Denied Prophet
by snarksadoodle
Summary: Decreed by StarClan themselves, the only way to decide fate for the Clans is to decide through two cats: one pure blood, one half-blood. Nutfur, pure RiverClan, and Brownpelt, his half-brother, who carries blood of a WindClan cat. Two cats: Nutfur. Brownpelt. One task: Fight to the death. The fate of half-Clan future lies with them. Featherpaw says it's their destiny. [ COMPLETE ]
1. Prologue

"Prologue"

* * *

Stiff and scowling, the lithe black feline has posed himself out front a sea of reeds.

His unruly feather-soft pelt has bristled to fear and fury, raw emotion burning in his radiantly glowing blue eyes. The white dash on his chest remains unseen by the darkness, the moonlight casting shadows somewhere further off to the left.

"Show yourself, coward!" he growls, a mixture of kitten squeaky and warrior gruff.

The reeds part in a series of fluid motions, revealing a thick furred, orange tabby female of his kin.

"For someone who's supposedly keen on healing cats, you've certainly got a chip on your shoulder, hmm?" she mews, tone lighthearted and airy. Her pawsteps carry her body closer and to her relief, the tinier cat relaxes marginally.

"Russetburr," he identifies her by her childish timbre and unmistakable coat colour. Before her death, she was memorialized as one of RiverClan's greatest medicine cats. Her actions had been revolutionary and had brought the Clan to victory in remarkable ways.

Featherpaw could recall the stories.

"I must apologize," he adds, dipping his head in the presence of the legend. "I did not realize it was you in the rushes. I was led to the presumption it was someone meaning myself harm."

"You have much to learn, young one," Russetburr explains with an underlying purr. "And I don't just mean your social skills."

The black tom feels himself flush in embarrassment, his eyes lowering. "Why have you come to me tonight?" he asks instead of acknowledging his tendencies to using bitter words in the company of his clanmates.

Russetburr looms closer, guiding Featherpaw away from the reed bed and across the short trimmed grass to a barren structure that leaves a roaring in the young apprentice's ears. In front of their paws is the edge of the ground where the massive gorge separates the Clan of the River and the Clan of the Wind.

A fallen tree resides as a connector between the two different lands.

"A prophecy?" Featherpaw turns to the legend, his ears perked inquisitively. He watches with faint disappointment as Russetburr shakes her head.

"More of an omen," she purrs instead. "Look closer. What do you see?" She crouches down beside him, her thick fluffy pelt tickling his thinner coat.

Featherpaw squints. His features contort into deep concentration as be begins to analyze what lies in front of his vision. Staring longer than expected, the black tom observes several noteworthy examples of the supposed omen. "An oak tree," he meows quietly. "A brown oak tree that makes a bridge. A bridge between WindClan and RiverClan." Hesitantly, his bright blue eyes open back to their neutral round shape as he asks;

"Are RiverClan and WindClan meant to connect into one Clan? Are we supposed to share territory? Become allies?"

Russetburr chuckles deep in her chest, highly amused by the questions. "No, young one. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Look at those nuts there -" her bushy tail points toward a pair of nuts - one stark pale, the other a darker, ruddy hue - and how the pale one lays on the ground undisturbed. The second, however, clings to the toppled oak, desperately hanging on for dear life so as to not fall in the rushing torrent below. "- one has split from its origin. The other associates itself with the tree. The tree and that nut are connected."

"I don't understand."

"The nut and the tree are not a part of who we are!" Russetburr suddenly hisses, fury alight in her hollowed amber gaze. "Look at where the tree has fallen! The oak betrays us and has fallen to the enemy! The oak has birthed two nuts - only one of which has originated from our side!"

"The second one was created after the tree fell?"

Russetburr nods and allows her medicinal kin connect the dots.

"A fallen oak. . . Oakfrost?" His head lifts, confusion marring his face. Russetburr remains unreadable so Featherpaw continues to think. "She was a queen. . .but she only had one son. . ." He trailes off in uncertainty as the ginger she-cat gives him a dubious look. "No," he corrects himself. "She had another kit. Five moons later. You don't mean. . ?"

"Before your time, a RiverClan cat named Oakfrost gave birth to a solitary kit," Russetburr's voice booms, almost as if she _were_ delivering a prophecy.

"Nutfur," Featherpaw's voice has gone quiet, speaking the name to himself for clarification.

"A moon prior, that kit's father died and Oakfrost fell into depression. She spent a lot of time collecting her thoughts near the gorge. Five moons later, she gave birth to another kit."

"Brownpaw," the black furred apprentice murmurs again, eyes shaping like the moon as a dawn of realization creeps down his spine. He jolts and yells;

"Oakfrost took on a WindClan mate!"

Russetburr nods, her anger sated. "In her lonely, heartbroken state, she fell head over heels for a WindClan warrior and disgraced the name of RiverClan. She used that very oak bridge to cross and meet with him. After the kit's birth, moons later, she caught a case of greencough and died in her sleep."

"I recall," Featherpaw remembers the time back in the nursery a few moons after when an ill queen had taken refuge in the medicine den. She had never emerged since that night.

"So I say again," Russetburr clears her throat. "Oakfrost disgraced the name of RiverClan. Flouncing with the enemy is just as heinous as the maggot spawn the forbidden relationship produced."

"Half-Clan," Featherpaw curls his lip at the title, knowing the implications. It's a disgusting name - fit for the disgusting offspring. Only a cat so low would ever dream of dishonor. It brought shame and blame to the family and the Clan as a whole. They were mocked and ridiculed as a result of their genetics. Half-Clanners were outer-family bred worms who held no suitable place in Clan society.

There was a rule in the code to prevent such monstrosities from happening in the first place.

"What can I do about it?" With a growl, his eyes narrow and harden akin to ice chips. "Oakfrost and both of her mates are all dead, I presume."

"Nothing violent if that's what you're implying," the fluffy female snorts. "You'll represent our kind with class, thank you very much. Medicine cats do not shed blood upon their clanmates."

Featherpaw blinks. "Then how am I supposed to do anything about the scourge in our Clan?"

"Half-Clanners are indeed a scourge," Russetburr ignores his question at first. "But StarClan has their ways. I have discussed this with many cats and we have decided to put it to a test. Particularly, in this situation, we have reached the conclusion for a fight to death."

"Death?" Featherpaw sounds shocked.

"But of course," Russetburr chimes, her voice now like a shrill bell. "Your job - your _duty_ as a medicine cat - is to speak with the accused and inform them that it is StarClan's will for a death. Both will fight and one shall die. The victor decides the fate of the Clans. Half-Clanners are abominations. However, if the tainted manages to win, they prove us and the code wrong. No longer will they be glared down upon with righteous fury and blame. This is not just a battle of win or lose - this is a battle for the fate of the Clans."

The black tom blinks slowly. "What of the victor if he is pure blooded?"

"Life goes on and the code remains unchanged. Half-Clan fiends remain the taints in society and pure bloods will reign with power in their souls. StarClan will see to that." Russetburr smiles at the young medicine cat's hesitation. "It's their destiny, young one. Life and death is a careful balance. We're only correcting the scale."

His head low, Featherpaw weighs his options over the course of what has been said.

StarClan demands death.

StarClan demands balance.

It is not murder.

It is StarClan's will.

"As my duty as role of medicine cat, I will carry out StarClan's will. One of the brothers will die and appease you. I promise."

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _So, yeah. This is where it's going. Yup._

 _Alright, yes, I know many of you voted for either a continuation, next generation of sorts, for Their Journey. Yes, I still have ideas for that. And for those who argued I should finish A River Divided? Yes, that will come around eventually. Come on, you guys know how long TJ took to complete. Over a year. I'll get RD up and running soon enough._

 _But for now, I've had this little idea lodged in my head for quite a while. I've actually been jumping ahead and pre-writing some chapters so you hopefully won't have to wait as long while we get this show on the road._

 _QotC ( for all you uncultured swine out there, that means 'question of the chapter' :3 ) : What do you like so far? I know I don't have much for you to go on, but what are your immediate thoughts? Any ideas as to where the story might go?_

 _I'll try to answer your comments and have my response in the following chapter. Go nuts!_

 _\- Snarky_


	2. Allegiances

ALLEGIANCES

* * *

 _RiverClan_

 **Leader:** Pikestar - bulky, brown ticked tabby tom; pine green eyes

 **Deputy:** Shallowfern - dark gray she-cat with a white underbelly; green eyes

 **Medicine Cat:** Clearwater - blue-gray tabby she-cat; bluish eyes

APPRENTICE: Featherpaw - soft-furred, raven black tom with a dash of white on his chest; radiant blue eyes

 **Warriors:**

Lashtail - ruddy brown tom with an unkempt pelt; graying hazel eyes

Frogjaw - large black tom with a white jaw; paled yellow-green eyes

APPRENTICE: Redpaw - reddish-brown she-cat; pale green eyes

Reedrush - thin, pale black tom; green eyes

Smoothfur - sleek, grayish tom; amber eyes

Duskbelly - dark brown tom with paler underbelly; amber eyes

APPRENTICE: Tansypaw - calico she-cat; one blue eye, one amber eye

Sunpath - golden tom; hazel eyes

Nutfur - pale creamy brown tom with slightly darker markings; bright emerald eyes

Ripplemask - thick furred, dark gray she-cat with a darker 'mask' over her nurturing golden eyes

Rainsong - blue-gray she-cat with white markings; soothing pale blue eyes

Mistbloom - gray and white she-cat; sharp green eyes

APPRENTICE: Shypaw - pale spotted brown tabby tom; gray eyes

Minnowrunner - pale gray and white she-cat; dark blue eyes

APPRENTICE: Brownpaw - dark chestnut brown tom; hazel eyes

Splashtail - orangish she-cat with a feathery tail; green eyes

Cloudyhaze - half-deaf, fluffy white she-cat; bright blue eyes

 **Queens:**

Daisybird - yellow-cream she-cat; bright blue eyes; expecting Reedrush's kits

 **Elders:**

Thornswipe - prickly furred, dark brown tom with graying features; wise golden eyes

 _._

 _WindClan_

 **Leader:** Flystar - light, golden dappled tom

 **Deputy:** Haybristle - long haired, stark golden she-cat

 **Medicine Cat:** Yelloweye - grumpy cinder colored she-cat; yellow-amber eyes

 **Warriors:**

Haretuft - brown and white tom with tufted ears; bright green eyes

Cloudsprint - sleek white tom; golden eyes

Breezechaser - black-gray tom with a windblown pelt; amber-orange eyes

Gorsetail - fluffy pale gray and white tom; soft green eyes

Bigtail - tailless, large, poofy tabby tom; dark amber eyes

Shrewnose - tiny, dark brown tom

Heatherheart - pale, creamy brown she-cat; blue eyes with a hint of lavender

APPRENTICE: Sheeppaw - fluffy white she-cat

Deerspot - fawn dappled she-cat; big blue eyes

APPRENTICE: Pouncepaw - dusky gray tom; dark blue eyes

Whitewater - white she-cat; amber eyes

Sootpounce - sooty, black she-cat; ashen gray eyes

 **Queens:**

Swallowflight - black and white she-cat (Larkkit - pale brown she-cat, Beetlekit - black and white tom, Berrykit - black and white she-cat)

 **Elders:**

Ashface - battle scarred gray tom; amber eyes

Sparrowcall - tawny tom with black spots; yellow eyes

Quailjumper - gray dappled she-cat; gray-green eyes

 _._

 _ThunderClan_

 **Leader:** Birdstar - white and gray tortoiseshell; blue eyes

 **Deputy:** Bouldernose - mottled brown tom; amber eyes

 **Medicine Cat:** Wrentail - pale creamy brown tom; bright yellow eyes

APPRENTICE: Mothpaw - dusty gray-brown tom; blind green eyes

 **Warriors:**

Cedarstripe - reddish tabby tom with white markings; pine green eyes

Silverhawk - silver tabby tom; sage eyes

Bramblenose - thick furred, dark brown tabby tom with a pink nose; pale amber eyes

Ebonyfoot - thick furred white tom with black paws; amber eyes

Sunstrike - ginger and black tom; dark amber eyes

Stingheart - pale brown tabby with darker markings; hazel eyes

APPRENTICE: Amberpaw - fluffy dull golden she-cat; amber eyes

Volewhisker - scrawny brown and white tom with long whiskers; blue eyes

Pineberry - nimble black she-cat; dark green eyes

Cloudspot - grayish she-cat with white 'spots'; blue eyes

Flowerhaze - silver tabby she-cat; sage eyes

Berryclaw - pale golden she-cat with broad paws; hazel eyes

APPRENTICE: Leafpaw - tortoiseshell she-cat; bright green eyes

 **Queens:**

Copperfur - coppery colored she-cat; green eyes (Branchkit - brown tabby tomkit, Hollowkit - dark brown tabby tomkit)

Icewhisper - short haired white she-cat; pale blue eyes

 **Elders:**

Paleheart - pale gray she-cat; amber eyes

Embershade - ginger and black tom

Mosstail - scruffy black tom; green eyes

 _._

 _ShadowClan_

 **Leader:** Pantherstar - tawny she-cat with sharp claws; sharp amber eyes

 **Deputy:** Adderstrike - mottled brown tom; green-amber eyes

 **Medicine Cat:** Twigpelt - thin built, black brown and white tomcat; hazel green eyes

APPRENTICE: Needlepaw - spiky furred black tom; dark green eyes

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _So not a real chapter, but I neglected to post the allegiances in the prologue and just went, 'eh, it'll have it's own chapter'. But to make it worth your while, I've answered some of your reviews. c:_

 _ **dragonwritergirl112 :** Nah, Russetburr's definitely StarClan. Sorry to burst your bubble, XD. And one of those suggestions is close to the truth, I'll tell you that. But for enigmatic purposes, I guess you'll just have to read more._

 _ **Rainstorm of ShadowClan :** Thank you!_

 _ **Pondfrost :** Wretched, lily livered toad! XD Yup. Russet's not just a 'prophecy and go' kind of cat. She actually cares for her former Clan and is willing to help the poor apprentice figure out the omen. And as for Featherpaw, I won't say too much but he does play a role in all of this. His bland persona right now does have a point to it. :3 Thanks for enjoying my twist on a commonly seen scenario. I myself got a little tired of everyone just accepting the blatant breaking of rules, someone's gotta stand up for their code of conduct._

 _ **Goldenheart215 :** I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. I'd be rooting for Brownpelt too, but yes, understanding their personalities in the next chapter will be semi-important. c:_

 _QotC: Since this chapter has no real relevance to the plot, who's one of your favorite Warriors characters? I ask one of because I know I can't pick and choose so easily. Some I've grown rather attached to and I can't pick a true favorite._

 _\- Snarky_


	3. Revelation

"Revelation"

* * *

"Nutfur. Nutfur."

The voice sounds hazy, muddled by sleep.

Half incoherent, the warrior in his nest can make out the hushed, urgency in the hovering voice.

"What what, huh?" the pale warrior lifts his head, his own voice a mixture of rough and drowsy. His bright emeralds shine in the darkness, meeting a pair of glowing hazel. Through the darkness of greenleaf night, he makes out the silhouette that can only belong to one feline. "Brownpaw, what's wrong?"

"I had another one," the smaller tomcat announces shamefully, ducking his head in embarrassment. "A nightmare," he then clarifies - just in case Nutfur suddenly became clueless.

"Don't just stand there and gawk," Nutfur grumbles, shifting his position to make room for an extra body in the nest of woven reeds.

Brownpaw approaches.

"Sit down you lump of fur and get warm," the elder brother snorts at the younger's hesitation. "We've done this before." To his satisfaction, the lanky yet fluffy body of Brownpaw slumps down in the modified nest, curling up in the warmth of the pale warrior's body heat.

He doesn't care what the others will think in the morning.

Nutfur will always be there for his brother.

Through thick and thin, family sticks by one another.

* * *

"Ugh, what's that flea-pelt doing back in here?"

"I knew I smelt something off in here."

"You think if we talked to Pikestar, he'd do something about it?"

"Nah, he doesn't seem to care. Shallowfern might."

Nutfur's ear twitches, catching bits of the floating conversations that mill about the warriors den. A small growl settles in his throat, his lean figure tensing in a tighter figure around the slightly smaller cat. His stubby tail doesn't do much in the sense of comforting wrapping like most cats' tails but the tiny nuzzle is good enough.

"Fish-dirt, he's awake."

"Out out out."

The hushed voices fade, followed with the rustling of the fronds of the den entrance.

A cold nose brushes up against the pale cat's neck, bringing him away from his dreamy haze.

"I'm better now," Brownpaw explains with an appreciative smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here again. I know the other warriors don't like me in here."

Nutfur snorts. "Their problem, not mine."

Suddenly, a head pokes in through the foliage, distressed and vaguely upset. It's a pale gray and white head with plain blue eyes that just speak as the common Minnowrunner. Her ears are pinned against her skull in dissatisfaction, meowing;

"There you are, Brownpaw. I've been looking for you. Hurry up. Redpaw and Shypaw are already out into the clearing."

"We're training with them?" Brownpaw asks, half disappointed half noncommitted.

"Yes!" the exasperated she-cat sighs breathlessly, urging her apprentice away from the confines of the warriors den. Her head pulls away from the den barrier and the brown tom is quick to follow, awkward long limbs sending him sprawling out of the nest and tumbling through the fronds without so much as a word to his sibling.

Not that Nutfur seems to notice. His mind is still a muddle of early morning thoughts. Perhaps he shouldn't have snuck in that extra trout in last night's meal. At this rate, he'd end up in Clearwater's den with a case of major stomach cramps due to eating too much. He doubts the tabby would be very happy with the young warrior. Especially since he was already on thin ice with her for accidentally knocking over a pile of her neatly assorted herb stacks.

Before he can be called out from his nest, charged of laziness, Nutfur sets to a quick grooming of his short and ruggedly handsome coat before walking out in controlled steps and allowing the light to bathe his already pale fur. He forces his gaze away from the emerging post-dawn light, a serene composition of morning glow and midday heat. Biting his tongue, he stifles an oncoming yawn in order to present himself as healthy.

Either Shallowfern would complain he didn't get enough sleep, or that he slept for too long. Either way, it affected his performance in the field and the deputy wasn't about to let that slip through her claws.

With his eyes adjusted to the levels of light, Nutfur pads around the outskirts of the camp's central clearing, catching sight of the mentors and apprentices gathered over in front of the fresh kill pile. Reminding himself of his already questionable stomach, the pale tomcat foregoes a morning snack and opts to simply leave. His pink nose twitches in the morning breeze, catching a whiff of musty, cold smell.

"Rain?" he questions to himself, lifting his slender crown to the horizon in brief inspection of the sky. With squinting eyes, he scans the endless sea of blue for any signs of an oncoming storm. A frown mars his face when there isn't a cloud in sight. His spine prickles curiously, wary of any unusual phenomenon in the future as his muscled frame angles itself toward the far stepping stones.

He barely makes it a few fox lengths before the young warrior can sense a shift in the air. If moons of perception training taught him anything, Nutfur could certainly pick out the difference between a solitary set of paws and when a secondary pair joined.

He remains unfazed, leaving his pursuer to assume he hasn't noticed their presence. Casually, he cranes his ear behind his cranium, passing it off as a quick stretch as he does it with the other ear. His steps slow, clearing more passages of silence in order for the warrior to hear shorter strides that scuffle against the earth.

 _Short legs, quick breaths, limited tracking abilities._

"Tansypaw. Turn back," Nutfur slows to a halt, listening as the dirt behind him shuffles.

"Aw, come on, Nutfur!" a childish female groans from the rear. "You never even looked behind you!"

"Thank Lashtail for his moons of wisdom teaching," the tomcat purrs, finally turning around to bask in the sights of the young calico. "I learned from the best on the skills of tracking. That includes knowing if someone is tailing you."

The she-cat sighs, slumping to her haunches. "What gave me away this time?"

"Your pawsteps weren't in time. I could hear the uneven steps between mine and yours. Your breath is too heavy - there was an air shift."

Tansypaw looked up to Nutfur. She was only a few moons younger, being roughly the same age as his younger brother Brownpaw. She greatly admired him for his strength and courage. His loyalty was unchallenged and Tansypaw liked his charismatic personality. Even under the influence of a potential threat, the young warrior remained unmoved and resumed his normal pattern as if nothing was wrong. Plenty of she-cats were also introduced to his charm and irresistible nature.

"Alright, I told you what you need to fix," Nutfur waves his paw in a shooing gesture. "Now go back to camp and practice."

Tansypaw pouts. "But Nutfur!" she whines, jumping to her paws in protest. "I've spent all morning in camp!"

Nutfur raises a questionable brow to the bouncy apprentice. "It's just after dawn. You've hardly been awake for very long."

Tansypaw's face remains stoic and presses further into a pleading pout. "Puh- _lease?_ Can't I hang out with your for the morning? It's not like you're doing anything important."

"Spending solidarity is important to me," Nutfur protests, a defensive rumble in his throat. "Clears my head."

"I'll be quiet," Tansypaw insists with an added jump forward.

The warrior snorts, rolls his eyes good naturedly and turns back in the direction he was originally going. His short bobtail twitches as his crown swivels around. "Coming?" he questions, ears perked at attention. He smiles with amusement as the younger 'paw chirps in excitement and chases after, close on his heels.

Warrior and apprentice pad alongside one another, leisure in their stride. The breaking sunlight bathes the land ahead of them with a warm glow, casting shadows from the looming plant life and other nature bound structures. For a moment, Tansypaw races ahead and disappears in the right fronds of the reeds. Nutfur pays little attention, though often checks to his side to observe the rustling foliage.

Just in case.

Tansypaw's mother had become sort of a motherly figure to Nutfur and Brownpaw. With their father dead before birth and Oakfrost's demise only a few moons later, the kits were informally adopted under 'Uncle Lashtail' and 'Aunt Ripplemask'. As such, he owed it to the dark gray she-cat to look after her only daughter.

"Tansypaw?" he calls out to her, hoping for an answer within the next few seconds.

Silence meets his question.

Nutfur flicks his tail, halting in his stride. "Tansypaw?" he tries again, eyelids creasing with suspicious worry.

"Fish-dirt," the pale cat curses under his breath before yowling, "Tansypaw! Get your scrawny hide out of the rushes. You are in a lot of trouble missy!"

As he lets his voice echo through the swamped foliage, Nutfur quiets his breathing. He picks apprehensively at the ground with his claws and scores marks into the dirt. Worry prickles at his spine, his short coat bristling furiously at the tips. Just as he's inhaling, ready to howl again, a gray shadow bursts from the depths of the unknown. A sharp pain pierces both flanks, his attacker having managed to clutch from a perch on his back and dig their claws to the sides.

"Grawh!" the warriors snarls in panicked rage, tossing away his attacker as he slams his back to the ground.

"Ahh!"

Nutfur stills, recognizing that shrill cry.

"Tansypaw!" he exclaims in disbelief, rolling to his paws to allow the younger 'paw to grab a better footing. "What is StarClan's name -! I was worried about you! What would your mother say?"

An expression of shame mars the calico's face, urging her to swallow down her mistakes in humbled submission. Her eyes shine with guilt, easily falling into a bout of disappointment as she's stared down. "I was only showing off my stalking skills," she argues weakly in defense. "I wanted to show you how good I was at tracking."

Nutfur continues staring, but can't remain furious at the pathetic face the 'paw has made. A low chuckle reverberates into the stagnant air. "You've gotten better. Now come along. We may as well practice some more down by the shoreline."

Beaming, the calico sprints off in chase of the larger tomcat.

* * *

When they return, the majority of the Clan has found their duties for the day which resulted in a nearly empty warriors den, a completely vacant apprentice den and several cats milling about in the center of camp. Whilst out, Nutfur had managed to swipe up a fish as Tansypaw practiced her stalking techniques.

Come final assessment day, her mentor would be most proud.

"Pass that off to the pile," Nutfur orders, exchanging the scaly creature with a smack of his jaws over to the apprentice who takes it eagerly. He'd accidentally eaten another prior, completely unaware of his previously upset stomach. Now with something new in his belly, it quite clearly affects his mood.

He swiftly makes a break for the medicine den, practically darting ahead to avoid getting seen by his superiors. Luckily, his arrival inside is quick and clean, leaving no room for any issues until he nearly slides into Clearwater counting seeds.

"Nutfur," the she-cat grumbles, swishing her tail to protect her charge as her gaze washes over the intrusive tom. "I thought I saw the last of you a quarter moon ago."

"Just a bellyache, darlin'," Nutfur purrs, easing away the tension the pair had built up over the past moon. "Accidentally ate a bit too much last night during the meal."

Clearwater scoffs, sweeping away the seeds as she finishes counting. "Pathetic toms, always wailing for something or other." She brushes past him and starts to head for the entrance.

Confused, Nutfur squints. "Aren't you going to help me out?"

"I'm afraid my watermint stocks are depleted," the blue-gray tabby shrugs sympathetically. "I sent my apprentice out earlier to freshen up the stores. He should be back soon. I'm in need to check on Thornswipe. For now just settle down on your side and don't move around too much." Without any more words, the medicine cat finishes her journey through the alcoved entrance and steps into the light where she disappears.

Defeated, the wounded warrior slumps to an unused nest on the far right reserved for patients. He grumbles in pain at the shift in in his belly, stowing it away with smoother movements. Nutfur is out for only a few minutes when he hears the familiar shuffle of paws echoing around the entrance. His head lifts in expectancy. "Clearwater?"

The silhouette given by the light proves to be much smaller - and therefore not Clearwater.

Featherpaw watches with an unblinking gaze, staring with a vacant haunting feeling that sends a shiver down the warrior's spine subconsciously. In his tiny jaws are the requested herbs and more, the leaves stark against his pitch black pelt.

"Nutfur."

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Alrighty! Here's our first official installment of Denied Prophet. The two prior were the prologue and the allegiances respectively so here's your plot as requested. There isn't much I can say about this chapter. You've met Nutfur and caught a little glimpse of Brownpaw's interactions.  
_

 _QotC: That being said, let's focus on the characters you've seen. What are your thoughts on Nutfur? Brownpaw? Tansypaw? Clearwater? Anyone else I've mentioned that isn't in this list?  
_

 _Remember to R &R and I'll get back to your responses in the next installment._

 _\- Snarky_


	4. Confrontation

"Confrontation"

* * *

"Nutfur."

"Featherpaw."

With some confused squinting, Nutfur catches sight of the medicine cat apprentice pad closer into the depths of the den. "Did you by chance run into Clearwater? Hopefully she told you I'm in need of some watermint. Bellyache."

Featherpaw stares at him blankly, offering a slow blink in response.

 _He really needs a brush up on his social skills,_ Nutfur thinks with a grimace, visibly frowning at the smaller tom's manners.

"Of course," he finally says, stoic and flat of any other emotion as if he were an empty shell. The soft furred feline takes small, prancy steps closer and drops a bundle of herbs at the warrior's feet. He sorts the leaves with his claws, piling away certain groups with a small set of murmurs before collecting a solitary stalk. Gingerly, the apprentice plucks it from the stiff earth and drops it unceremoniously atop the patient's muzzle. He immediately starts to walk away with the rest of the herbs toward the stores.

"Great StarClan!" Nutfur exclaims, recoiling at the blunt intrusion. "What was that?"

"The watermint you requested," Featherpaw meows casually, starting to sort away his collection behind a curtain of ferns. "You ingest it. I suggest you do so now less your stomach grow in pain."

Lips curling, Nutfur snatches the stalk and shovels it down, making a point to loudly swallow. Angrily, he shuffles around, trying to seek out that spot deemed pleasurable for snoozing. His lids shut quickly, blocking out what little light seeps through the cracks. He snorts and his nose wrinkles. Soon after, he succumbs to sleep, somehow affected by a stray black seed in his medicine.

* * *

Nutfur wakes from a dreamless sleep, enjoying the solidarity of an empty mind while he slept peacefully. Maybe he'd have to add poppy seeds to his evening meals. No doubt Clearwater would object - exactly why he would pursue the idea.

Bright emeralds open slowly, gathering the surroundings before shocked open to full wideness at the immediate sight of a pair of radiant blues.

"Oh for StarClan's sake!" Nutfur cries, jerking too quickly to his paws and nearly hitting his head on the stone wall. "What possesses you to stare at someone while they're sleeping?" he asks furiously.

"I was observing for signs."

"Signs of what?" the warrior grumbles, settling back in his nest with an irritated huff.

"Signs of nightmares. You slept calmly."

Nutfur studies the tinier feline, noting how his posture has not changed. He remains stiffly composed, sitting pointedly with his gaze transfixed on the taller warrior. His thin pointed tail wraps around his paws, coiled neatly in the position of precision. Nutfur watches as his ear falls out of place for all of a few seconds, flicking away an insect before resuming its prior stance. Featherpaw is breathing through his black nose, obscured by his pitch pelt but Nutfur can hear his nostrils whistle as they exhale, his mouth clamped shut. His bright blues gleam brilliantly in the dimness of the den, resembling deep pools of emotion that his voice does not reciprocate.

"Yeah, so what?"

Featherpaw's head shifts suddenly to the left in a slight motion - scarcely noticeable. "It was surprising - that one would sleep so dreamlessly when one is a part of a violent destiny." His bright blues start to drift, gazing aimlessly into a corner of the den.

"Violent what now?" If Nutfur was only half-listening before, he was certainly listening now. Determination flares up in his eyes, his pelt bristling to a finer point.

"Violent destiny," Featherpaw repeats, returning his eyes to focus as blue meets green. Nutfur fixes him with a confused glare and Featherpaw cuts ahead, "But I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should have left you alone to sleep longer. I should have consulted Brownpaw first."

"What does my brother have anything to do with this?" The green-eyed warrior rises slowly to his paws. He makes it priority to show the stifled rage in his muscle structure, figure tense and posed for an aggressive advance. Obviously, he would never strike a medicine cat, but if this little runt kept talking the way he was. . .

"He has everything to do with this, Nutfur," Featherpaw explains urgently. "Your brother is half-Clan."

"Careful, runt," Nutfur warns, breath hot with fury. "Wouldn't want something to happen to that pretty mouth of yours."

Featherpaw's nose wrinkles in distaste. "Your threats are meaningless. No one harms a messenger of the stars. They want their will to be heard."

"Who does?" the warrior asks.

"StarClan. It is their will. They came to me in a dream. They said that halfling spawn are a scourge upon the Clans. They told me the only way to right the wrongs cast by our flawed society. They said the only way was to take one of pure blood - that's you - and one of tainted blood - your brother - and comply with an honorable confrontation resulting in one's death. This ultimately decides the fate of the Clans."

Nutfur looks at him blankly, clearly lost.

Featherpaw clears his throat and offers the simpler wording;

"You and your brother will fight to the death."

"Fish-dirt!" Nutfur spits. He's clearly against the idea and wastes no time in beating around the bush and instead barks out the straightaway point. "I don't know what kind of nonsense you're spouting off here, but it's not _StarClan's will_ for my brother and I to duke it out. It's insane! I would never lay a claw on him with intent to harm."

"You do not understand destiny," Featherpaw's head drops a little in disappointment. "It is prophesied. StarClan demands spilt blood. You must play your part and appease them for they are our guardians who watch over us."

"Well your prophecy can go take a hike up the stream! I ain't gettin' into any fight, I ain't spilling anyone's blood. Except for yours maybe if you keep talking about this fish-brained prophecy and destiny crap."

"Nutfur, if you'd only listen -"

The bulky warrior snaps, spittle flying from a gaping maw. He cuts off the apprentice's frustration, fixing him with a solid glare. "I'm through with listening. Leave me and my brother alone." Despite knowing the consequences of leaving without letting his stomach settle, Nutfur charges for the entrance with bold steps, an unwavering confidence fighting back the turmoil in his belly. He barely makes it four steps before the large tom topples over in writhing agony. His throat clenches up, choking out the partially digested remnants of his breakfast.

"I might have slipped a yarrow leaf in there somewhere," Featherpaw shrugs indifferently, unfazed to the murderous glow glinting from green shards. "As a medicine cat, I advise you to get some proper rest."

Nutfur holds steadfast with an open mouth, preparing to say something - anything - when a dizzy spell crosses over his thought process, wiping everything to black.

* * *

"Make sure to come back so I can redress the wound."

"Of course. I ain't a complete frog-brain."

"No, but you're a tom who's had his fair share of danger. I expect to see you back in here first thing dawn tomorrow."

Self awareness swamps slowly back into the mind of the ill conceived RiverClan warrior. Based on vocals, one is obviously Clearwater - he'd know her motherly chastising tone anywhere - and the second is an older tomcat, his accent in tone leaving him to assume it's Lashtail.

"Clearwater," he coughs, throat hoarse and sore from his earlier upchuck. It did not taste the same going down as it did going up.

"You're awake," the she-cat smiles a bit through her munchings. Smells like a vole from where Nutfur lays. "Featherpaw said you passed out a bit after he fed you some yarrow. A bit unorthodox in my opinion, he could've simply used the watermint, but he's learning and I suppose it worked just as well. Feeling any better, dearie?"

"Peachy," Nutfur grumbles, tossing to the other side with his back to the medicine cat. "Did Featherpaw mention anything about a prophecy to you earlier?"

There's a pause in the air, thoughtful. "No," the voice finally answers. "I don't recall of such a thing. Why? Did he say something to you?"

Nutfur shakes his scruffy crown. "Nah. Just curious. Medicine cats and their omens and prophecies. Just wondering if he had one and told you."

"He wouldn't have," Clearwater explains, taking another hearty bite of her food. "If he had, I wouldn't have known about it either. We keep our conversations with StarClan very private. Seldom do other cats know what has been said in the conversation between either party."

The warrior hums in thought. His ear flicks, suddenly aware of a furious shuffling of dirt just outside the den. Seconds later is the heavy panting associated with an out of breath feline on the run. As Nutfur predicts, a cat does indeed burst into the den, breathing pattern wrecked no doubt from the sprint that has him kicking up dirt on the way inside.

"Nutfur! Oh StarClan I heard you were in the medicine den and nearly had a heart attack!"

"I'm fine, Brownpaw, just a bellyache." Nutfur groans as he sits up to look over his disheveled sibling, noting how ruffled and scraggly his thicker pelt was. "Geez, did you even clean your pelt today? It looks like you were dragged through the bramble bush backwards."

Self aware of his condition, a flustered Brownpaw pulls back just a few steps in order to quickly sort out his unkempt fur. Nutfur merely chuckles to which Brownpaw answers with a rude flick of his tongue.

"Toadface."

"Froglegs."

This was their way of affection. Since their mother's early on death - their father passing before Brownpaw was even born - the pair of brothers made their adoration for each other clear with snarky and sarcastic remarks. While most families found these comments rude, as the only family either of them had, they were entitled to make fun of eachother.

"Anyway, I'm fine. Go run along before Minnowrunner catches you not doing your duties." Nutfur waves his stump of a tail, urging Brownpaw to leave him in peace.

"I'm almost a warrior," Brownpaw complains, sniffing his nose haughtily.

"Almost doesn't cut it, runt," Nutfur bites back, smirking. "You've got a little more ways to go before I can't keep bossin' ya around. Now go be productive somewhere else. Staying here's making you a nervous hen."

Unable to argue with his brother who outranks him by age and position in the Clan, an emotionally exhausted brown pelt shuffles off after a quick shoulder bump, leaving Nutfur in solitude.

"Hey," Nutfur calls, harsh and quiet, almost in a hiss as he looks around to see if Clearwater is within earshot. Brownpaw looks behind him, meeting emeralds with hazel. Nutfur nods at him to come closer. "Word of the wise, steer clear of Featherpaw for a while. Just until I sort some things out."

"Some things? Steer clear? Nutfur what are you talking about?" Brownpaw expresses a look of utmost confusion, complete with the slack jaw and curled lip.

"Just don't get in conversation with Featherpaw. I can't explain it to you - for now just don't talk to him if you can help it. Brownpaw, I'm ordering you."

"Fine, fine, fine," the scruffy tom grits his teeth, reluctantly agreeing with a swish of his longer tail. "Good-bye." With that, he ambles out of the den, finally leaving Nutfur alone for good. Before he crosses the den's threshold, he makes good use of looking over his shoulder, suddenly shying away from the stern gaze of bright green as the pale warrior remains looking at him, unwavering. The darker brown tom bounds out into the fading sunlight, disappearing from Nutfur's line of view.

"Whispering about secrets plans, hmm?" Clearwater emerges from the back of the den, her voice slightly muffled by the clump of unsorted leaves held carefully in her jaws. "I shared a lot of secrets with my sister." She sighs wistfully. "I only wish she were still around. I enjoy having someone to confide it every once in awhile. I love my apprentice, I really do. He's dutiful and always compliant with my orders. But . . ."

"He's not exactly social," Nutfur finishes with a lazy grin, knowing exactly how _anti_ -social the tiny black tom could be.

"Exactly," the short-haired tabby agrees, flicking aside a leaf with her paw. "I'd rather not be the start of a chain of gossip and rumors but I can only assume he gets it from his family. Strict parents and brutally irritating brothers. At least his sister's sociable. She's relatively nice sans her arguable tendencies. But at least I can get a smile out of her. I've yet to see that 'paw smile. I've seen a few patronizing grins, albeit forced and unpleasant to to look at, but I've never seen him with a genuine smile."

"Maybe someone should teach him how to socialize," Nutfur ponders, closing his eyes nonchalantly as he leaves his statement hanging in the air.

"Maybe someone should," Clearwater answers suggestively, leering toward her patient with a smug grin.

"You certainly don't mean me," Nutfur scoffs, muzzle crinkling with disgust.

Clearwater ambles closer, staring the tom in the eyes. "I most certainly do. From what I understand, you've participated in his longest conversations that weren't with his parents. Even I haven't gotten him to speak for very long. You influence him. Just talk to him. Maybe he'll open up."

 _Highly unlikely._

Nutfur snorts, turning his face away as the medicine cat returns to her sorting, a dullness in her hollowed steps.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _How's that for plot development, eh?_

 ** _Pondfrost_** _: [chapter two] Those are nice choices. I was drawn to Hollyleaf too, and yes, I was miffed at her death. I like the cats of leadership qualities if not leaders themselves, such as Crookedstar, Tallstar or Fallen Leaves.  
_

 _[chapter three] Pretty accurate character readings so far. I haven't dug too much into depth yet so there's still some underlying traits everyone has that hasn't been revealed yet. Brownpaw especially in case you were worried he'd turn out to be the frantic younger sibling, weak and worrisome. Glad you like Clearwater's name and yes, Featherpaw just did get more interesting. Especially after this chapter. ;)_

 ** _Goldenheart215_** _:_ _[chapter two]_ _I'll admit, she can be dislikable, but if you like her as a character, that's awesome! I don't meet many Dovewing fans as I'm sure you've stated._

 _[chapter three] Yeah, this one was a more Nutfur centric chapter sorry to say. We get to see Brownpaw at the end more or less. The chapter after next chapter will be about 'll also get to see more of Tansypaw, don't worry. As for Clearwater, did this chapter influence you any?_

 _QotC: This one won't be too exciting I'm afraid. You've met most of the important characters and those you haven't, I can't ask about XD So just for kicks, what are your theories on how this will pan out? How do you think the story ends?_

 _\- Snarky_


	5. Conversation

"Conversation"

* * *

A bubbling heat wafts through the campgrounds, sun-dried grass rustling in a stale breeze. The stagnant air holds no passing scents, only challenged by the stink of wet pelts in the heart of green-leaf. Scarce are the flags of white that paint the everblue sky, thin and strung in hardly noticeable pathways while a beacon of blooming yellow casts a visually pleasing sea of gold across the landscape.

Drawn out by the rays of sunshine, divots of shadows are home to the permanent residents seeking shelter from the borderline unbearable heat. Their eyes glint with blatant bitterness while the ambiance provides the unpleasant living conditions.

"It's been like this for three sunsets now," complains a tired looking tom, his stark golden pelt nearly a rival to the sun itself as he sprawls underneath a copse of shriveling fronds. Beside him sits a thinner black warrior, less affected than his long-haired compatriot, yet slumping with heat exhaustion.

"Unless you can fix it," the black cat meows, his green optics shut to block the glare of the sun. "I suggest you keep your complaints to yourself."

"Reedrush, brother of mine, you're no fun at all," the golden cat says simply, cracking open a hazel orb for a brief moment only to close it seconds late due to the shine. He lazily licks his chops and is reminded of an empty belly since this morning with a well timed stomach growl. "I'm also hungry in case you want to be nice and perhaps snag me a fish from the pile out in the center."

"There is no pile," Reedrush grumbles, picking his claws at the damaged blades of grass. "There hasn't been one since late yesterday. The elders got the last of the carp."

"Hmm," Sunpath muses, hazel eyes glassing over in fatigue. "Where are Smoothfur and Duskbelly this fine morning then?"

"Smoothfur has been entrusted with leading the last group apprentice activity before their final assessments," Reedrush answers flatly, licking the rough of his tongue over his right forepaw and dragging it restlessly over his ear in repetition. "As for Duskbelly? You'd have to ask Shallowfern - she seems to always know where her children are at any given time."

Sunpath visually shudders, shrinking deeper into the foliage at the thought of their overbearing mother knowing their exact location every moment.

"Where's the little Feather then?"

"Is it really necessary to bother me with these tiresome questions?" Reedrush growls low in his throat, considerably annoyed. "But since you've asked _so nicely_ " he pauses to force a toothy grin, revealing his sharp ivories in the face of his littermate, "Clearwater had him out herb gathering again from what I've heard. He should be back soon. Speaking of such - there he is now."

The set of hazel and green eyes turn their attention to the far right, observant to the new arrival cresting over the far shoreline. His stark black pelt almost resembles a silhouette when strawn out against the harsh glare of the sunbeams. In his jaws appear to be another clump of well needed herbs.

"Have fun on your plant collecting adventure?" Sunpath sneers, oddly jubilant.

"I don't see what sort of fun I could extract from a mediocre task such as herb gathering," Featherpaw begins, setting the leafy collection down at his paws in order to properly speak without being muffled. "But I suppose I can find some amusing solace in these little adventures. It's about the only time when I can properly get away from the den. Good day Sunpath, Reedrush." Dipping his head in ingrained politeness, the youngest kit to the Shallowfern and Frogjaw litter takes his leave back toward the den in the cleft of rocks draped with thick moss growth.

"Does he ever speak normally?" Sunpath groans, bored and sympathetic with the family's 'good little soldier'. "He does whatever he's told, whenever he's told. Can't he think for himself?"

"Careful with what you say, Sunpath," Reedrush advises, tone wary. "Our family was brought up to be pliable and submissive. We do as we're told as to not shame our heritage. Our mother is deputy and will soon be leader. I find no fault as to why one of her kin will be her successor once Pikestar finally passes. We can't afford to have anyone with a rebellious nature. Featherpaw has already had his chance to rebel when he chose the path of the medicine cat. It made Father upset but after conversation, Featherpaw fell under rules again. Rebellion leads to tarnishing the family's name."

"But really, what good is a family name?" Sunpath argues, rolling to his belly in order to look his brother in the eye sternly. "We're all our own cat with all our own agreements and disagreements. We all have choices and can do whatever we want with them."

Reedrush frowns. "And that's the kind of talk that's earning a serious conversation with Father. You step out of line, you get punished. Tighten up your act, Sunpath, or I'll have to report you to Shallowfern."

The warning does not go unheard and Sunpath nods mutely with a begrudging, "I understand."

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to speak with Shallowfern about leading a hunting patrol." Reedrush stands and notes the panic flash across the fluffier tom's gaze.

"Please don't report me," he whispers hurriedly.

The slender tom bows his head slightly - a bob at the most. "Don't worry. I have no such intentions. Yet." He feels compelled to add, watching the younger's urge to submit take hold at his forewarning. As expected, Sunpath's crown bows swiftly, nestled between his paws in order to avoid looking Reedrush in the eye. By the time he looks up again, the other tomcat has left.

But another has taken his place.

"Mind if I join you? The heat is rather unbearable and I'd prefer some shade."

"Not at all," the fluffy golden shuffles a few mouse tails to the left, granting access to the rest of the guarded shade for his sturdily-built, dark brown furred sibling.

Duskbelly takes the offered space with an achy sigh, revealing the muscle soreness he'd no doubt suffered from an early brush up on skills with Frogjaw. Courtesy of their mother, each kit of their family had been commanded to attend an off and on training session with their parents. Deep into warriorhood, this trend continues and each child of Shallowfern and Frogjaw is summoned on different days to enhance their battle skills.

Even as a senior, Frogjaw was no pushover when battling. Sunpath has come across his father many a day throughout both his apprenticeship and time as a warrior. His thick pelt could only hide so many bruises and scars. New fur had grown over the older, scarred and torn patches, thankfully hiding the remnants of their brutal sessions that somehow escaped Pikestar's knowledge.

Having a mother as deputy seemed to help with that.

Duskbelly cranes his head to the left and then the right, sighing with relief at the satisfying crack each twist gives. Unimpressed, Sunpath cringes with a shudder, a rustle in his thicker coat.

"Must you make such a ghastly sound?"

"I can and I will," Duskbelly retorts, decidedly final. "I have endured the fierceness that only a father can administer all morning without complaint. Now I have a chance to relax and rub out the kinks and you criticize me? Leave if you can't handle it."

"I had this spot first," Sunpath sticks out his tongue in defiance. "But I can see when I'm not wanted." Fur rumpled, the golden tom rises hastily to his paws, making a point to shake out his long hairs and clear away the dirt. Right onto Duskbelly who protests with a cry of indignation.

Sunpath promptly ignores him with a charismatic grin and saunters off toward the rock den, home to the medicine cats. With a bounce in his step, he ducks his head to avoid the dangling strings of moss and pokes his abdomen just inside the threshold of the cavern. "Feathers?" he meows questioningly, peering around the light and dark dappled interior with sharply squinting hazel orbs.

"Oh, Sunpath, it's just you."

Relieved at hearing the familiar voice, Sunpath forces his small fluffy form through the entrance in order to properly face his brother. "Duskbelly and Reedrush have been horrible conversation partners; I was rather hoping you and I could have a chat?"

Featherpaw regards him suspiciously, complete with the confused squinting. "You usually have ulterior motives, Sunpath. What do you want?"

"Nothing!" the hazel-eyed tom yelps. "I just wanna talk."

"About what, pray tell?" Featherpaw fiddles around with a leaf and spears it with a claw.

"Anything, really. Reedrush was talking about family and Duskbelly was complaining that I was complaining about his sore joints. Also family related."

Featherpaw swishes his thin tail, coiling it around his paws in professional posture. "And why is it such a bad topic to speak of family? Our family is well kept and orderly. There is a professional hierarchy to follow. As the following generation, it is part of our duty to continue it's legacy. When any of us have kits, Mother and Father expect us to train our kits accordingly. Sans myself, of course. Clearwater has quite vividly expressed the importance of medicine cats refusing a mate."

"You're just like Reedrush," Sunpath sighs distastefully. "All this talk about 'continuing the legacy' and 'living up to family expectations'. It's rather foolish, don't you agree?"

Featherpaw blinks, a vacant void in his blue pools. "Not particularly. That is what family is, is it not? We follow their orders and continue the chain. We preserve the legacy and ensure our survival. I find it extremely foreign to see the other cats not pursue their own family group preservation. But that is why Mother is deputy - so she can bring RiverClan to proper glory and influence the rest of the Clans."

"Sunpath, where might I ask are you going?"

The fluffy feline crinkles his muzzle and continues backing out of the den. "Ehh, you're clearly busy. I'll find a new conversation buddy."

"Very well. It was nice conversing with you, Sunpath. However short it was, it's nice to have a familial conversation from time to time. Come by anytime. Advise our brothers to do the same."

"Yeah, totally. Sure."

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Not really about any of our main characters per say, but it's sort of an outside-in look on the situation. Obviously none of Featherpaw's siblings suspect him of anything - prophecy or omen wise - so it's just a rather normal outlook on what's happening in the Clan during this stirring drama._

 _ **Starrysong likes Snowstorms** : [chapter one] Yea, she's definitely StarClan, but her credibility must be questioned._

 _[chapter four] Haha, yeah. Brownpaw is the only blood family Nutfur has left so he's bound to be a little protective of him. He'd never hurt his true kin. Stubborn, isn't he?_

 _ **Pondfrost** : Hmm. Interesting. But then again, I know the true outcome and I've become a little predictable._

 _QotC: Let's focus on family. Specifically, Featherpaw's. And Duskbelly's and Sunpath's and. . . well, all of Featherpaw's siblings essentially. This of course includes the kits born to Shallowfern and Frogjaw: Reedrush, Smoothfur, Duskbelly, Sunpath, Redpaw, Shypaw, and Featherpaw. Big family yeah? Almost like Ferncloud's litters XD Anyways, from the information gathered thus far, what do you think their kithood was like? What kind of parents are Frogjaw and Shallowfern? What do they value to the most?_

 _I realize I keep asking like five questions for each_ singular question _of the day_ , _but ehh. They're leading questions. Answer any of them if you so please._

 _\- Snarky_


	6. Accusation

"Accusation"

* * *

"Brownpaw. It is urgent that I speak with you."

The scruffy looking 'paw lifts his head jerkily, tossing a mass of thick curls on his pelt. His head swivels around blindly in search of who called his name.

Just in front of him, in all his clean-cut glory, stands the infamous medicine cat apprentice. He looks a bit of out place without a clump of herbs in his jaws - which is how Brownpaw usually sees him - and instead appears to be a bit frazzled. Which again, is odd, because the young apprentice is usually depicted as calm and collected.

Brownpaw is about to agree to the initial conversation when he suddenly remembers his brother's words;

 _"Just don't get in conversation with Featherpaw. I can't explain it to you - for now just don't talk to him if you can help it. Brownpaw, I'm ordering you."_

"Err - actually, can this wait?" Brownpaw takes a tentative step away, inching toward the distant entrance where Minnowrunner is chatting up Smoothfur. "I'm about ready to go with Minnowrunner and take my assessment. You know - ? So I can be a warrior?"

"Brownpaw. This is urgent. Surely Minnowrunner can wait. She is merely talking to my brother. He means no harm." Featherpaw steps closer, insistent.

Brownpaw winces. _Should I tell him? Should I tell him that Nutfur told me to not talk to him?_

 _Nutfur doesn't know what he's talking about. Just because the scrap is a little bit spooked, doesn't mean he's dangerous._

"Of course," he clears his throat. "You're right. Go ahead. What's so important?" He prepares to sit down when Featherpaw flicks his tail and quickly spits out, "No! Not here."

"I require solitude. Some things are not meant yet for other ears. Come." The tinier tom commands and stalks off, leaving the other apprentice to trail after dumbly.

The pair streak past the clearing and slide under a small copse of ferns hidden behind the medicine den. Evidently, Clearwater's presence inside would make this exchange a great deal more difficult. Meeting the shadows where Featherpaw's pelt melts into the darkness, leaving only hollowed pools of blue. Brownpaw remains in the little flickers of dappled light, looking wary and uncertain with his awkward lanky limbs crunched in the tight spot.

"Alright, care to spill this 'urgent' matter?" The brown cat asks tersely, grunting and struggling to get comfortable.

"Brownpaw, there isn't really an easy way to say this but. . . Your destiny - it's vital to the fate of the Clans."

"My destiny?"

"Yes," Featherpaw affirms, nodding his head that goes unseen aside from the dip from his glowing eyes. "StarClan came to me in a dream nearly a quarter-moon ago. They sent me an omen - one of which I have deciphered. It was a representation of our present time and thus, I was contacted by one of our ancestors and told of the future if I didn't ensure the completion of the prophecy."

Brownpaw cranes his neck forward, a look of doubt passing his features. "Now there's a prophecy?"

"More or less. StarClan warned me of the ruthless rebellions and the anarchists. The Clans have broken the code one too many times. They're ensuring a way to end the threats against the first law. Specifically, the half-Clanners."

Brownpaw's pelt subconsciously bristles. He's no stranger to that term. When Nutfur vaguely answered him all those moons ago, he went to Uncle Lashtail instead and received the dirty on what he was down in the core.

Brownpaw was the abomination. Born of a RiverClan mother and a WindClan father as a result of an angsty, mourning queen seeking comfort. Nutfur had protested, saying that there was nothing wrong with Brownpaw as a whole - he was still his brother and a member of their, albeit broken, family. As long as he stayed loyal to his birth Clan, there would be no consequences no matter what his blood conjecture.

"Half-Clan cats are a scourge," the black cat announces from the shadows. "They are a plague and cast a bad image on the Clan they habit. In your case, you represent RiverClan. And you also represent RiverClan with revolt. To bear a half-Clan cat and raise it amongst the pure is discouraged. It's foul and wrong. That is why StarClan has come to me bearing their plan. Their plan to face a pure blood with a half-blood in a fight to the death. One of which shall be the winner and the deciding vote for the Clans' fate. If the pure blood wins, then half-Clanners remain the plague and will continue to be frowned upon with disgust - most likely exiled or executed if such a rule makes itself known. I'll know as soon as I'm contacted by StarClan again. But if the half-blood gains victorship, they will no longer be looked at with such vile and hateful expressions and will be welcomed into society as a sign of new, experimental blood."

The brown furred apprentice's face furthers into a deep scowl, mildly understanding the garble that the other 'paw is spouting.

"So you're saying - . . ."

"Nutfur is the pure blood, you are the half-blood," Featherpaw bluntly explains, adding on to the trailed sentence. "It is in your destiny for you to fight til death. The outcome will decide the fate of the Clans. You see, it is a good thing. You must fight for the greater good."

"But one of us will die. . ." A sorrowed haunting clouds Brownpaw's hazel moons.

"Of course. That is foretold. StarClan demands balance. A death will appease them."

Brownpaw goes silent, gaze hooded and unseen as his head lowers to his paws. He remains motionless, his huffy breathing overlapping the silence of the hollow. His blunt claws eventually start scraping the soil, scoring deep lines within.

Featherpaw is unable to take the hint and proceeds to ask, "So is this a yes? Will you complete what has been prophesied and wage battle with your brother?" A furious growl sounds from across from him, his face suddenly meeting a clump of dirt that Brownpaw has no doubt scooped up in his paws and hurled it at the source of his anger. "I suppose this means no."

"Darn right it means no!" Brownpaw is on his feet in a flurry, spittle flying from his maw with hardened features passing over his body. "I can't fight my big brother! Not only would he slam me flat on my back if we fought, but I won't hurt him!"

Featherpaw takes his own paw to wipe away the soil smeared on his face.

"What about the greater good?"

"Your _greater good_ can take a swim!" Brownpaw hisses vehemently, turning around in a flash of dark brown fluff and stalking into the scalding light. "Nutfur was right to say I shouldn't talk to you."

"Hear me out!" Featherpaw wails, using his smaller and more agile body to an advantage to shoot himself in front of his target, effectively preventing him from advancing any further. "You of all cats should understand. You're obviously half-Clan - don't you want your rights and a proper place in society? If you win, you'd convince StarClan that half-Clan cats are just as good as pure blooded ones and therefore ensure a better lifestyle. StarClan would tell the leaders that half-Clanners are not to be shunned, but valued and treated the same - if not better - as everyone else. Don't you see? You'd value greatly from this battle? All those hateful, scornful looks. Everyone talking behind your back about how your mother was a horrible plague-ridden parasite who threw herself blindly at the mercy of a WindClan fiend. Wouldn't you rather redeem yourself and let the world know that Brownpaw, half-Clan to RiverClan and WindClan, is someone to be treasured?" At the end, the small tom's lungs seem to be contracting swiftly, leaving the host in a state of hyperventilation that he quickly tries to dial down.

Crinkling his muzzle in contemplation, Brownpaw experiences a wave of frustrated confliction wash over his pelt. The logical snark pulls at his mind, urging him to listen to reason and plainly walk away. He wouldn't talk to Featherpaw anytime soon until Nutfur sorted this out like he had promised. On the other paw, emotional fatigue clings to his heart, pressuring him to remain standing close to the desperate 'paw. He hadn't agreed to any proposition, but there was no harm in considering it.

After all, who wouldn't jump at the chance to have their reputation reformed for the better?

"I haven't agreed to anything," Brownpaw starts, making sure to emphasize his caution with a warning growl. "But I will take some to time to consider your offer. Thanks for your time."

Featherpaw steps aside, graciously dipping his head. "The pleasure is all mine. Can I expect a proper answer before the gathering?"

Brownpaw is forced to pause and think. The gathering, according to Clearwater, has been set to take place in approximately four sun cycles. He flicks an ear, internally desiring more time to dwell on his ideals, but considers this a generous offer, knowing some might not even give him more than a few minutes. "Yeah, I think I'll have something substantial by then."

"I'll be waiting for your decision by the full moon," Featherpaw confirms and his black pelt is nothing more than a fast-paced shadow, streaking from the hidden hollow into the light for a few meager seconds before darting back into the sanctuary of the medicine den.

 _I can't talk to Nutfur now. . . He'll know I spoke with Featherpaw against his orders._

Brownpaw frowns - a perpetual look he'd been wearing nearly all morning.

 _Forget Nutfur's orders! I'm almost a warrior who can make his own decisions._

 _If I kill my brother. . . then I'll finally be welcomed into the Clan. Not as half of a whole, but someone respected. Someone wanted. Nutfur can't understand. He was born pure blooded. He doesn't know the strife of a half-Clan cat who bears the blood of the river and the wind. He doesn't know the scars, the torment, the pain. He can't understand._

 _But Featherpaw understands. . ._

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _And yet again we see Featherpaw attempt to convert more to his cause. Persistent little bug, isn't he? But maybe this time he's actually succeeded?_

 _ **Pondfrost :** Yeah, that's definitely part of it. I won't go into specifics, but there will be a chapter later that delves into coughsomeone'scough kithood and explains their life up to the present._

 _ **Starrysong loves Snowstorms :** Power hungry is a good term. Shallowfern is the deputy after all, and according to her sons, they expect her to choose one of them to be her successor. They aren't necessarily evil, but their family does appreciate positions of power. _

_QotC: We've yet to see much of any romance so far, which is just fine considering I marked this as hurt/comfort and family. So you know some of the main themes. But Warriors in general - favorite pairings? Doesn't have to be canon._

 _\- Snarky_


	7. Celebration

"Celebration"

* * *

A wistful slowness swarms the camp's exterior, the officially marked entrance alight with the mixture between aged wisdom and youthful innocence. The reed barrier rustles, its crinkling noise announcing the approach of multiple felines currently chatting wildly amongst themselves. The set becomes visible as the final clump parts, welcoming the return of their rulers and subordinates.

The brown ticked tabby moves in gradual motions, a meaningful pace that sets his excitement apart from his true age. He appears mostly content if not for the struggle in his eyes surrounding the overworked usage of his tired muscles and weak joints. In his pine colored eyes is an expression of numb pain. Not sharp and livid, mind you, but a constant reminder that his last life is one driven by the follies of his own survival and quest of solitude.

Beside him, in a similar leisurely pace, is the gray furred deputy. Her stark white belly is hidden from view, stained from the muzzle down with drying mud. It's starting to cake on her pelt tips, drying to a an uncomfortable crumble. Her expression is not one of pleasantries for her lips are drawn back to mimic a snarl, yet held firm in a tight line. She breathes heavily through her nose, a fast refusal to open her clamped jaws and taste the mush of wet earth. Her dark eyes of glowing green annoyance appears to be aimed at the farthest feline, dragging his paws in a submissive nature.

Similarly, that same submissive tom wanders snail-paced into camp, his spotted coat marked over with the thickness of the mud. No doubt his pelt burns with embarrassment and shame as the taller cat looks down upon him.

Looking rather apathetic about it all is the silk furred reddish brown she-cat, meandering toward the front as if carrying importance, but lacking the expression of a leader. She casts a half sympathetic look toward her simpering sibling, pale eyes staring vacant and hollow.

Next is the jumpity calico. A she-cat clearly impressed with herself if the pride in her opposite colored eyes say anything. She's clearly quivering with anticipation yet she's managing to keep relatively calm in the presence of her denmates. Her mother had obviously raised her well to be polite in good company.

Lastly is the tall and lanky bundle of shaggy fur that practically leaks suppressed joy. His hazel eyes are shining in the harsh light, lips pulled back in an unfazed smile. There's a noticeable prance in his step, sending tiny shockwaves into the earth with every bounce he creates. The scent of the river clings to his pelt, still briefly damp from the water excursion as the rest of it dries by the warmth of the sun rays.

"Nutfur, Nutfur!" he crows in delight, rushing past his denmates, deputy, and leader in order to meet his elder brother head-on.

Sprinting from across the clearing is the sandy furred tom whose short and coarse pelt is thoroughly ruffled with earthy particles and dust no doubt kicked up from dashing around in the hollow close to the shoreline. In a mess of light and dark fur, the two collide with a harsh grunt, sprawling over one another in a furry heap.

"What are you - kits?" scoffs the little red brown feline, flicking her tail casually as she passes the brothers on her way following Shallowfern.

Both toms ignore her, but they crawl away from each other in order to talk properly. Now that they have given themselves some amount of personal space, Nutfur can see how much his brother has grown. He recalls a time when little Brownkit could jump and not reach his shoulders. Now, Brownpaw's the size of a maturing apprentice - nearly a warrior. He's almost eye-level with his paler hued sibling and that slightly worries Nutfur. Regardless, Nutfur leans closer to bump muzzles playfully, still knowing both of them are kits at heart.

"Hey there, bud," Nutfur grins, shaking out his fur. "How'd it go today?"

"Nutfur, I passed!" Brownpaw bursts, hazel eyes shining radiantly with the thought of advancing to the next stage in Clan society.

"I'm so proud of you," Nutfur stifles the urge to jump for joy, simply leaning forward again to rub out in affection. "Pikestar say when the ceremony is?"

"Shallowfern told us it'd be at dusk - when the heat's a little more bearable to gather the Clan," the dark brown cat meows as an afterthought.

"That's great. More warriors are a good thing. Especially with this heatwave." At the mention, the warrior glances up at the burning sky, frequently dry and overbearingly hot without relinquish for rainfall. He flicks an ear, turning back to his point. "Guess we'll have to make some more nests for you guys. And I'll have to expand mine. It's been awhile since we've had to share because of the nightmares and you've _definitely_ gotten bigger."

"About that. . ." Brownpaw gulps, suddenly uneasy as he forces himself to look his brother in the eye, despite every feeling telling him not to.

"What's wrong?" Nutfur looms closer, trying to inspect the problem.

Brownpaw's jaw opens, ready to tell him what's been on his chest for the past few days. . .

"Shypaw didn't pass," he blurts instead. "His assessment," he then clarifies, hoping to clear the confusion marring the pale warrior's visage. "Shallowfern failed him."

"That sucks," Nutfur tsks in disatisfaction. "You were pretty close friends, weren't you?"

Brownpaw merely shrugs, thankful that the conversation has taken another turn. "We talked," he admits. "We did some training run throughs together." Truth be told, Brownpaw didn't hang out much with the other apprentices sans Tansypaw. His social awkwardness only increased since the 'avoiding Featherpaw' incident. Shypaw and Redpaw were Featherpaw's littermates for StarClan's sake! He had felt rather alien trying to strike up conversation with either of them.

What if Featherpaw told them about the destiny prophecy? Would they have tried to convert him to fighting as well?

"Oh well, life goes on. He'll get another chance." Nutfur absently steers his gaze around, observing in caution as it lands on the muddy spotted tabby no doubt getting his ear chewed off by the deputy - equally slathered in mud. Nutfur can see her muzzle snap open and close with fury, teeth flashing as she speaks into the apprentice's ear.

"But guess what, champ?" His mood swings and Nutfur is once again, a sprightly youth with a glimmer in his bright emeralds. "You're practically a warrior! Just in time for the gathering tomorrow. Mom and Dad would be so proud." In a moment of affection weakness, the pale feline surges forward to envelop his brother in a furry nuzzle.

Brownpaw stifles a gasp of surprise. Nutfur rarely talked about their parents. On the day of Brownpaw's apprenticeship, Nutfur had told him that Mom would be disappointed if he didn't look his best for the ceremony. He hadn't spoken of her so blatantly since. Prior to that, Nutfur hadn't mentioned his father either. Not Nutfur's RiverClan or Brownpaw's WindClan. It was like they were ghosts who weren't welcomed if they were mentioned. Brownpaw simply didn't bring up their parents. He also didn't talk much of Uncle Lashtail and Aunt Ripplemask.

When it came to family, it was just Nutfur and Brownpaw.

"Even my father?" Brownpaw takes a hesitant jump, very well expecting the sudden stiffening of another body next to his own.

"Yeah," Nutfur grunts through a strangled voice, fighting away a surprised cough. "I'll bet he's pretty proud too."

Brownpaw's much longer tail taps on one of Nutfur's paws. "Think he's still alive?"

He feels a deliberate shrug and hears a casually placed, "Dunno. Maybe." Then the warm comfort disappears as Nutfur pulls away. "Alright, well, I think I'm leading a hunting patrol soon. Go get some rest."

Hiding his crestfallen face, Brownpaw bobs his head and watches with a twinge of guilt as his brother achingly lopes away.

 _For StarClan's sake! Can't I do anything right? Am I just cursed to say the wrong thing all the time?_

* * *

The cool breeze of dusk is welcomed heavily as the shadows swallow the fronds in a mystifying darkness. Each step on the heat dried earth is now refreshingly soft and tender - a complete parallel to the day's earlier burning scorch. The light of the fireflies guide the warriors back to their home, becoming an illuminated pathway of relief.

Sunpath and Splashtail flank either side of Nutfur as the broad shouldered warrior muscles his way through the bristled foliage, trailing the line of lights back to the hollow. The last of the fronds part just as a familiar boom resonates its way through the echoed depression of RiverClan's central camp.

". . . leader of RiverClan, ask my ancestors to look down on these young cats. They have trained diligently for the past several moons and in return, I earn the right to honor their nobility. The three of you may step forward."

From up on his fallen log, Pikestar perches. His bulky silhouette rises to sight with the assistance of the fireflies and the growing presence of the moon. Already, most of the Clan has gathered in a loose semi-circle shape, leaving the most room for the three graduates near the front to take an even closer step.

"Redpaw, the only female of Frogjaw and Shallowfern's litter, I see it as no surprise to see you applying yourself as would a warrior. Shallowfern has overseen your assessments over the past moon. I see no reason why we should delay a ceremony long overdue."

Pikestar pauses, turning his attention down the line.

"Tansypaw. Your eagerness to work and abilities to work with others prove to me you are ready to become a warrior. Likewise, Shallowfern has observed your latest assessment and I'm sure you've figured it out that you've passed."

Finally, Pikestar turns his attention to the only tom in the rankings. Had Shypaw been there, it would have made two and Brownpaw wouldn't be alone. The great leader halts in his speech for a much longer pause.

"Brownpaw. . ." he trails off in thought, considering his next words. "You. . ."

Nutfur feels his pelt subtly bristle and a growl rises in his throat, drawing the attention of a sour faced Mistbloom. He relaxes his hackles and stifles his vocals but keeps a stern glare upon their leader, almost daring him to say something bad about his brother.

"You have had it rough," the ticked tabby finally says, nodding his head in agreement to his own statement. "But I think you'll make a decent warrior among our Clan."

Brownpaw's been accepted, yet Nutfur can't help but flinching at his leader's word choice.

 _Decent warrior. . ._ rings in his head, reminding him of the scruffy tom's true heritage.

 _Our Clan. . ._ As if the tabby coward is admitting that Brownpaw isn't wholly accepted. It isn't Brownpaw's Clan, it's RiverClan's. And Brownpaw isn't a full RiverClan cat.

"Do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?" Pikestar addresses the trio as a whole, foregoing an individual ceremony filled with repetitions.

"I do." The three chime at the same time. Yet everyone can hear the differences.

Tansypaw's is clearly the loudest. The most energetic and enthusiastic of the bunch.

Redpaw's is a bit more dull. She's obviously proud enough to make it this far, but it seems she doesn't care much for a grand ceremony.

Brownpaw's is the most hesitant. His voice carries a bit further from the synchronized timbre of Redpaw and Tansypaw, almost like an echoing afterthought. It's almost as if he doubts becoming a warrior. It's what he's always wanted - to prove that a half-Clan cat could make something of himself.

Pikestar accepts their answers nonetheless.

"Then by the powers of StarClan, Redpaw, you shall be known as Redbriar. We accept your level headedness and intelligence and welcome you as a full warrior of RiverClan. Tansypaw shall be known as Tansyspot. RiverClan appreciates your enthusiasm and compatibility with your clanmates and welcomes you as a full warrior. And Brownpaw shall be known as Brownpelt. We admire your perseverance and constant persistence and welcome you as a full warrior of RiverClan."

"Redbriar!"

"Tansyspot!"

"Brownpelt!"

A congratulating chorus bursts from the foliage, fanning to the sky in a continuous string of vocalizations which no doubt scares off nearby nighttime prey.

"See? Always told ya you wouldn't be a 'paw for long," Nutfur purrs in amusement, whiskers twitching as the newly named Brownpelt saunters closer with a prideful hop in his step as Pikestar calls the ceremony to a close. "Now I can protect you in the den easier."

"Nutfur, I'm a warrior now," Brownpelt argues, still smiling.

"So?" Nutfur snorts, guiding both toms over toward the mound of freshly caught prey. Nutfur's patrol had managed to catch something substantial for the evening that would hopefully tide the Clan until a patrol went out tomorrow. They each snatch a relatively small fish from the pile, leaving the bigger catches for the queens and elders out of politeness. Then the pair saunters off toward a corner of camp, away from the loud voices as congratulations continue to bloom, most of the Clan still fawning over Redbriar and Tansyspot.

Munching on his fish, Brownpelt explains, "I don't need you to watch over me. Now that I'm a warrior, I can take care of myself."

Nutfur blinks, almost hurt. "What about sharing a nest like we promised?"

Brownpelt scores a few claw marks into the soil, hesitation bristling through his shaggier coat. "Well," he begins, voice quavering with shyness. "That was when we were both apprentices. Or when it was just me as an apprentice. No one really cared. Now that we're both warriors, it'd seem odd if we kept sharing a nest."

Nutfur's bobtail twitches. His green eyes dim, no longer that bright hue that they once were. "We're still siblings," the pale warrior frowns deeply, fighting away the aching starting to blossom in his chest. "What about the nightmares?"

Brownpelt cringes, taking another gulp from his meal and licking his chops. "I've been meaning to tell you, I don't have them anymore. I was going to tell you earlier before the ceremony but. . ." He trails off, letting his brother fill in the blanks. "Anyhow, I don't need to be comforted all the time." He shakes out his thick pelt and rises to his paws, glancing around for the fellow bridging warriors who, mere minutes ago, were apprentices just like he was. "Tansyspot's over there. I'm going to go say hi and congratulate her."

But Nutfur doesn't seem to care about the second part. He looks up at his younger brother, faith fading from his optics. "So. . .you don't want me to protect you anymore?"

Brownpelt flicks an ear, fighting to hide his guilt. "Just don't be so overprotective. I'm a warrior," he announces for at least the third time since becoming one. "I don't need a constant shadow. Let me do things on my own." Without anymore words, the new warrior prances off to speak with the calico she-cat who is beginning to fade away from the overly pushy Clan and seek out some alone time.

Nutfur pushes his fish away with a harsh snort, suddenly not hungry.

* * *

 _A/N:  
_

 _Oooh~ A stirring melodrama!_

 _How thoroughly dramatic!_

 _Humorous allusions aside, Brownpelt's got his name! Now we can get this dog and pony show on the road! Look out world! And as we can clearly see, their brotherly relationship is starting to crumble~ Now with their emotions skewed, who's more likely to turn on their sibling?_

 _ **Pondfrost** : Gray and Silver's a pretty popular choice. I myself agree to it :3 And yeah, Millie was certainly the Silverstream substitution. And a rather poor one at that, too. _

_Heh, I guess younger siblings have a tendency to rebel. Featherpaw is kind of biased, yes. He more wants Nutfur to win because as first understood, even Featherpaw thinks half-Clan cats are a plague. He just wants to get rid of Brownpaw/pelt. But since Nutfur is too stubborn to agree, the little Feather is forced to lie and manipulate Brownpaw/pelt because he's an easier mark. Younger, underappreciated, discriminated...perfect target indeed._

 _ **Starrysong likes Snowstorms** : I agree with all of those except DovexTiger XD And PebblexHawk. Mostly because I haven't read the newest books yet :P_

 _Nupe. I like to use his heritage an an example; Like the river he changes currents, twining down different paths, and like the wind, he blows in any direction, pursueded to breeze by in any numerous patterns. He's certainly no stubborn rock like his brother. Nutfur's a flat lake who remains the same - solid and sturdy._

 _ **BrightMind** : [chapter three] I'm glad that you're liking the characters so far! That's their outer shell however. Each cat hides a darker part to their personality~_

 _[chapter five] I'm also really happy you've stuck around too in case I never mentioned this to anyone. I like your interpretation on Featherpaw. He's a hard one to analyze, ain't he? XD_

 _Yup. It's a matter of situation. Everyone will find out more in a few chapters, but I'll say here that it has to do with how he was raised. Featherpaw was brought up like this on purpose. He doesn't know any other way of life besides the one he was taught._

 _QotC: Now that the balance has been officially disturbed - their deep bond starting to crack, how do you think it will affect Nutfur in particular?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	8. Accumulation

"Accumulation"

* * *

". . . Brownpelt, Redbriar, and Tansyspot. Those are the cats who are going to the gathering tonight. If your name was called, please adjourn to the entrance - we'll be leaving shortly. If your name was not called, you are to remain here."

Pikestar's announcement had been carried out by Shallowfern - the white-bellied gray she-cat standing tall and proud at the head of the forming group, keeping her clanmates in line. Her tail swishes in mindful impatience, urging anyone close to avoid trifling with her in such a mood.

Brownpelt wriggles his way to the front - his first gathering as a warrior. Beside him, Tansyspot has crawled up closer, striking up conversation with those around her like a moth drawn to a flame. The thick furred tom takes note of Redbriar at the very front, speaking in hushed tones with her mother atop one of the scattered boulders near the camp entrance. Seeing the reddish warrior reminds him of Featherpaw.

As promised, the black tom had left him alone for the past several sunrises, waiting for this very evening. Brownpelt had seen him lurking around the medicine den, seeming characteristically quiet and never speaking without good reason. The apprentice hadn't conversed with either him nor his brother, clearly keeping to the agreement.

And now, Brownpelt thinks that as tonight is the gathering, he'll have to give Featherpaw his final answer. His eyes glass over in a wave of suppressed panic, scanning the crowd for the medicine cat and her apprentice. At first, he's unable to see them, but as a few more seconds roll by, the new warrior catches sight of a pitch black pelt tailing a blue-gray tabby from out of their den. Not wanting to speak to him, Brownpelt subtly sinks lower into the mob, hiding his pelt amongst the others.

He doesn't feel like talking to Nutfur either. Since their spat the prior evening, Nutfur hadn't spoken a word to him. Brownpelt recalled him going straight to his nest and immediately sleeping. When he had woken up, the pale warrior skirted out of the den with the rising of the dawn and wasn't seen for the remainder of the day. He'd only just come back only a little while before Shallowfern had emerged from Pikestar's den and started reciting the chosen names for tonight's festivities.

He doesn't have time to ponder anymore because it's this moment when Pikestar slithers out from his darkened hollow of a den. The ticked tabby ambles closer with staggering motions, a combination of slow and fast movements. "RiverClan, to me!" he calls as loud as a cat of his age can before taking his place at the head of the pack, leading his Clan to the gathering with his deputy flanking his side.

The chosen cats naturally follow their leader, falling into a comfortable routine of murmured chatter and exchanged bouts of low laughter.

Brownpelt leans over closer to speak with Tansyspot, willing his paws to pick up the pace to stroll beside her and initiate conversation. He's just about to open his mouth and call her name when his own name is harshly accented. Brownpelt flinches, pulling away from the calico and deciding whether or not he should dart away.

There isn't much choice in the matter when the soft-furred medicine cat apprentice gallops to the new warrior's side. "Brownpelt," he repeats, struggling to keep in step with the long legged cat.

"Featherpaw," Brownpelt returns, keeping his gaze straightforward.

"Tonight is the gathering. Have you reached a conclusion? Have you agreed to follow your destiny?" Featherpaw squints up at him with bright eyes, hoping that he will chose the obvious choice.

Brownpelt breathes heavily through his nose, thinking over his choice one final time. He glances around the enclosed cats, spotting a stark pale pelt amongst them.

"Yes," he says quietly, yet it is laced with confidence. "I'll do it."

"Well advised choice. Very good." Featherpaw doesn't smile in appreciation. He merely nods in understanding to the 'right' answer. "As long as one of you is willing, there doesn't need to be a mindless assembly. You can lure him away from the group after the gathering concludes. Once in the safety of the reeds you can properly take control of your destiny and kill -"

"For StarClan's sake, Featherpaw!" Brownpelt hisses, harsh and quietly as he can, giving a clout to the black tom's temple. "I know I just agreed to this, but you can't talking so freely about _killing cats!_ If we're going to do this, we'll do it _my_ way when _I_ decide."

Featherpaw wrinkles his nose. "My apologies. I was simply overexcited at the thought of fulfilling a message transcribed by StarClan. It is a very joyous occasion for me, you must understand."

Brownpelt casts a lopsided glance to the slightly smaller feline. "You don't look very 'joyous'."

"Perpetual habit," Featherpaw responds mutely, turning his head to reveal his visage of voidless emotion. "I am happy on the inside. Even if my features do not express it. We are instructed to keep out emotions at bay. It makes us more vulnerable when we display feelings of overzealous joy or haunting depression."

"That's. . . nice," the warrior finishes lamely, unknowing how to respond to a statement such as Featherpaw's. He would say more but he realizes that since the start of their conversation, the group had advanced considerably and as his mouth opened to speak, Pikestar called for silence to announce that they had arrived.

Stepping through the undergrowth, just behind a large patrol of ThunderClan cats, the RiverClan representatives shuffle their way into the clearing granting a perfect view of Fourtrees. It seems like forever since Brownpelt has seen the four great oaks and he pauses stride to marvel at their size. Even as a warrior he feels tiny and insignificant. He resumes walking after being bumped around by several of his clanmates. His hazel eyes glance aimlessly around, attempting to spot Featherpaw who was at his side only seconds ago. Brownpelt sees the tom's pelt melt into the darkness as he trails after his mentor over to where the other medicine cats seem to be gathering in a meeting of their own kind.

"Looks like ShadowClan isn't here yet." A voice startles Brownpelt as he searches around for a place to sit. He'd rather not sit next to Nutfur nor would he care to meander closer to Featherpaw. Anyone else would probably give him a disdainful look. Everyone in the Clan knew of his bloodline and since neither Lashtail nor Ripplemask were here tonight, he obviously couldn't sit next to them.

As the scruffy tom whirls around to see who spoke to him, his eyes meet the mismatched melody of Tansyspot's.

"Uh, yeah. Looks like it. Wonder what's keeping them?" He chokes out, forcing a pleasant smile in the company of the cheerful she-cat.

"Let's go talk to ThunderClan until they get here!" Tansyspot suggests, already starting to dart off whether or not Brownpelt is ready to follow. "I think Stingpaw might be a warrior now!"

"Who?" Brownpelt asks, pointlessly as he finds himself alone, suddenly left to chase after his friend.

"It's actually Stingheart now. . ." Brownpelt hears as he approaches Tansyspot and a handsome looking brown tabby. Tansyspot laughs and smiles. "Hey, we're both warriors! I'm Tansyspot now!"

"That's a beautiful name," Stingheart purrs, warmth in his hazel eyes.

Brownpelt clears his throat, experiencing a flush of jealousy.

"Oh!" Tansyspot mews in surprise, smiling happily at the RiverClan warrior's approach. "Stingheart, this is Brownpelt. He became a warrior with me yesterday. Redbriar too but I don't see her around. Brownpelt, this is Stingheart. He's been my ThunderClan friend since we were both very young 'paws!"

"Brownpelt, was it? Charmed." Stingheart turns his attention to the newcomer.

"Uh, same," comes the weak reply.

A loud yowl pulls the conversation to a standstill, the announcement of ShadowClan's arrival stilling most conversations as another large ensemble pours into the clearing.

The final leader ascends to the top of the Great Rock and a chorusing howl brings the gathering to a start.

"Flystar went first last time," the white and gray tortoiseshell says to her companions sharing the rock. "I should start this time."

"Very well," nods the tawny ShadowClan leader.

Birdstar addresses the Clans. "Cats of all Clans! ThunderClan is doing well despite the recent change in weather. Prey is running well."

"She must be lying." Brownpelt hears one of his clanmates murmur to another. From voices alone, it seems to be Sunpath whispering to one of his many brothers. Reedrush, most likely.

"ThunderClan does look a little thin. I must assume prey isn't running all that well for them."

"But despite our decent fortune, I've come to ask Pikestar for sharing rights to the river," Birdstar pleads, somberly glancing over to the ticked tabby who looks mildly shocked.

"I must disagree, Birdstar," Pikestar coughs and flicks his tail. "Our treaty supplies ThunderClan with hunting rights to the frozen river during leaf-bare. It is not leaf-bare, obviously. I will deny your claim. RiverClan needs their water source to survive this drought."

Birdstar is about to argue, a frown plastered on her muzzle and a retort on her lips but she quiets, seeing the futility of trying to sort out another agreement. "Then that is all I have to tell." She takes a minute step back, granting the spotlight to someone else.

"WindClan does not have much to say," Flystar announces, taking a large step forward in grand pompadour. "Unlike the other Clans, the heat does not affect us as much since we are always out in the daylight. Prey is running slow, making it easier for our warriors to catch. Swallowflight, one of our queens, is now in the nursery looking after her first litter. Haretuft couldn't be more proud."

The mentioned warrior in the crowd puffs out his chest.

"WindClan has nothing more to say. Pantherstar?"

"ThunderClan doesn't seem to be respecting their boundary lines. One of my patrols has scented ThunderClan stench on our side of the thunderpath." The powerful ShadowClan leader swivels her sharp amber gaze in Birdstar's direction where the smaller she-cat bristles at the accusation.

"There has been no such thing, Pantherstar!" Birdstar hisses in defense. "My warriors have no need to cross the thunderpath to hunt crowfood."

Keeping a level head, the slender cougar of a cat lets the disturbance end then and there with a warning growl. "I'll forgive this for now, but I won't be so lenient if any of my cats scent ThunderClan on our side before the next gathering." Finished with her threats, the tawny leader pads backwards to allow the final speaker to step forward.

"The drought has been keeping our warriors plenty busy," Pikestar forces a chuckle, easing the tension between the leaders. There were some advantages to being the oldest leader on the rock. "Despite our struggles, I see no reason as to why we won't make it through this rough patch. The rain will return soon or so Clearwater has foretold. Additionally, we have three new warriors with us tonight. Three warriors named last evening in honor of completing their final assessments. Redbriar, Tansyspot, and Brownpelt please rise."

In nearly three different spots, the trio of young warriors rise to be seen, smiling in pride as a low chorus of cheers rumble through the hollow. With their leader's permission, they sit back down again.

"If that is all, I pronounce this meeting closed," Flystar finishes and bounds off the massive boulder with a flying leap and narrowly avoids landing on his own cats. The rest of the leaders opt to taking the safer route down, scrambling down the path of smaller rocks until their paws hit solid earth once again. Pikestar takes the longest, having to be lead down by the support of his deputy less his legs give out.

"It was nice to see you again, Stingheart."

"And to you as well, darling Tansyspot."

Brownpelt doesn't stick around for their mushy departings, his own hazel orbs narrowed as he scans the depleting mob for a pitch hued pelt. His anxiety flares up suddenly upon seeing a muscled pale shape pursuing a black shadow deeper into the trees with sounds that mimic growls. He dashes across the hollow, splashing into the bushes with a loud rustle of the leaves and breaking of needle-like twigs. He catches up to the pair just as Nutfur has the medicine cat cornered to a sturdy oak.

"Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?" the pale warrior rumbles in hostility, his claws unsheathing and glinting in the pale moonlight as he stalks a few steps closer. "I'm not going to be part of your little prophecy so stop talking to me."

Featherpaw doesn't immediately reply, his jaws clamped shut and optics narrowed.

"Maybe I should just teach you a lesson," Nutfur hisses with his teeth bared dangerously. "A lesson you won't soon forget." His rightmost paw raises in preparation to swipe and slash.

"Nutfur don't!" Brownpelt screams as his brother lunges at the apprentice, aiming to maim.

Luckily, Featherpaw's superior agility aids him in his escape. The midnight feline ducks to the side on reflexive motions, missing the tips of Nutfur's claws by mere whiskers. He dives under the now exposed belly and wriggles into the safety of the undergrowth, his pelt disappearing aside from his glowing eyes.

"You wouldn't _dare_ strike me!" Featherpaw snarls in a moment of true rage. Brownpelt thinks he's never seen the apprentice this emotional. "No one attacks a messenger of the stars!"

"I think this 'messenger of the stars' could use some teaching to put him in his place," Nutfur threatens, lurching for the bushes where Featherpaw faded from view.

"Nutfur, no!" Brownpelt jumps in front of his brother, shielding the brush from Nutfur's advance. "You can't hurt him."

"Besides him being a medicine cat, why in StarClan's name can't I?"

"You just can't!"

"Brownpelt has sided with me," Featherpaw growls from the shadows as he remains standing still. "He has sided with his destiny. He has accepted his future."

 _"What?"_ bellows Nutfur, rounding on his sibling.

Brownpelt starts to shrink into the brush, forcing his eyes away from the fury and betrayal glowing in Nutfur's raging forests.

"You mean, you _talked_ with Featherpaw? After I ordered you not to?" His voice sounds hurt, choked up with surprise.

"You can't tell me what to do now!" Brownpelt retaliates, flashing his teeth as his pelt bristles. "I'm a warrior. I can talk to whomever I want!"

"No you can't," Nutfur insists with a defensive growl. "Ever since Mom died, I'm in charge of you. And I say, you can't!"

Brownpelt snarls. "You can't play like that! Mom would've let me do whatever I want! I'm my own cat!"

Nutfur clouts him on the head, claws sheathed to avoid drawing blood. "We're family, fishface! Listen to me!"

"No!" Spittle comes flying out of the slightly taller cat's maw, landing aggressively on Nutfur's face, causing him to recoil. Brownpelt darts for the clearing, a blur of black that could only be Featherpaw hot on his heels. They halt for a second, giving Brownpelt a chance to say one last thing.

"I hate you!"

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Wow Brownpelt, tell him how you really feel. And I thought Nutfur had the foul mouth. Jeez. Eventful chapter, no?  
_

 _ **BrightMind** : [chapter six] Yea, he's certainly unnerving. Again, it has to do with how he was brought up. I've dropped a few hints about his family, but we don't delve into it deeply until a few chapters from now. _

_[chapter seven] Nutfur is. . . technically they're both unstable. We're starting to see Nutfur's visage start to crumble. He's very protective - like an older sibling should be - but he tends to be possessive and very co-dependent. He relies on Brownpelt as much as Brownpelt relies on Nutfur. But now that their reliability is starting to wither, the question is. . . who breaks first?_

 _I'm glad you read River Divided! I promise I will get back to it. I think I'll finish this one first since I'm on a roll here XD_

 _ **Starrysong likes Snowstorms** : Stubbornness will rule supreme it seems. And whilst killing might be extreme, with their mental stability the way it is, I wouldn't put it past either one to at least wound the other. _

_**Pondfrost** : It's a push and pull. Nutfur at the beginning, wouldn't want to strike his brother, nor would Brownpelt. As we move along, it seems Brownpelt wants to fight and Nutfur doesn't. But maybe Nutfur does want to fight and maybe Brownpelt won't. _

_Nickname Evil Genius accepted. :3 I'm glad I sort of fooled your brain into thinking it was a battle as opposed to a ceremony. And thanks for your input on the names. Redbriar is s fitting name for that thorny she-cat and Tansyspot. . . calico. . . spots. . . I just didn't want to take the standard Tansyleaf or Tansyberry kind of route so yeah, she's a spots._

 _Speaking of names, I wonder if anyone caught on to how most of the Clan has these clever names and how I gave the main characters possibly the simplest and blandest suffixes ever. You have Redbriar and Tansyspot and Ripplemask and Oakfrost and Shallowfern and Sunpath and Duskbelly and Reedrush. . . then you have Nut_ fur _and Brown_ pelt _. Hmmm. . ._

 _QotC: Let's talk hypothetics. Hypothetically, if Oakfrost were still alive, how would this story be different? Since her death impacts the way Nutfur and Brownpelt interact, how would their mother being alive change them and everyone else in the Clan?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	9. Altercation

"Altercation"

* * *

"I can't believe you would side with Featherpaw," snarls Nutfur the next morning, stirring up the trouble that the siblings let simmer during last night after the gathering. Supposedly, time was given for both parties to think about what had been said and reflect upon that and eventually apologize to one another.

Suffice to say, neither brother had any intention of groveling.

Nutfur corners Brownpelt as soon as they're out of the den, subconsciously forcing themselves further and further away from the central clearing until they halt at the main entrance to camp.

"Even _after_ I told you not to!" the pale tom consistently hisses as he tries to make his brother experience guilt for going against his orders.

Brownpelt isn't going for it. "And I told you, you can't control me! I can talk to whomever I want and you have no say in it! I could be making friends with Shallowfern for all you know and I'd love every second being away from your pathetic rules!"

"At least, if you were talking to Shallowfern, you wouldn't be dealing with a life or death situation! Featherpaw is volatile. He's a walking shell of emotionless fluff that makes up prophecies spawned from muck-brained dreams. He's insane!" Nutfur's lips flap in fury, an edgy growl touching his tone. Indignantly, he scores lines into the soil, deep cuts that express his barely sustained rage.

"At least Featherpaw believes in me!" Brownpelt shoots back, equally flushed with anger. "He believes that I, as a half-Clan abomination, can change how the other Clans view me! I can be respected, I can be _loved!"_

Nutfur balks, shocked to the core at his brother's choice of words.

"And if you truly love me like I think you do, you'd do this for me," Brownpelt continues, thrusting his muzzle closer with a confident step forward. "You'll give me a fair fight and settle things once and for all. Fight me!"

Nutfur allows his head to droop a little in disappointment. "No, Brownpelt," he murmurs somberly. "I can't do that."

"Then you don't care enough about me."

"Brownpelt, I didn't say -"

"Save it! I'm leaving. Somewhere where I'll be appreciated more. WindClan will take me."

A growl rumbles in Nutfur's throat. "You walk past that bush, you don't ever come back. You hear?"

Brownpelt snorts and takes a few steps back. Words set and done, he sprints away, past the bush and chases the horizon. The frantic rustling gradually gets quieter the further the lanky bodied tom runs from camp.

Nutfur doesn't try to follow him.

As a soft wind whispers through camp, onlookers Clearwater and Featherpaw watch with rapt attention. The small breeze is enough to rustle the hairs on the pelts, free flying with the chance of momentary air. Both are silent for several heartbeats, listening to the noise of the other warriors as they question each other, asking questions and saying comments such as

 _"What was all that screaming?"_

 _"Sounded like it was coming from the camp's entrance."_

 _"Is that Nutfur?"_

"I'd rather not place any blame upon anyone," Clearwater begins, speaking softly to her apprentice sitting at her side, both seated just outside their shared den. "But I suppose I'd be right in my saying that you had something to do with this."

Featherpaw refuses to respond verbally, his silence more than enough of an answer for his mentor.

"As I thought," the sleek blue-gray tabby mews to herself before tucking herself away back inside the den. She leaves Featherpaw alone to contemplate in the mostly silence that washes over the clearing.

* * *

"Care to give your report?"

Shallowfern looks expectantly at her sons who were just out on a border patrol, renewing scent lines and checking for any other predators.

Since Smoothfur seems more interested in the condition of his pelt and cleaning up the cuts and dried scabs, Duskbelly administers the report. "We bumped into a ThunderClan patrol. They seemed intent on fishing in the river. Smoothfur and I took it upon ourselves to set them straight."

Smoothfur licks his chops. "They won't be back anytime soon with the scarring we gave 'em."

"Birdstar wasn't wrong in her Clan's need for extra hunting space," Shallowfern murmurs aloud then shakes her head decisively. "But you're right. ThunderClan is not welcome to fish during the green-leaf. The agreement has been set so they're allowed usage during leaf-bare. Anything else?"

"Fox," Duskbelly adds, Smoothfur nodding in confirmation. "Somewhat stale though. It wafted down toward the gorge area. A patrol should be sent out soon to chase it our from our territory. Preferably straight into the gorge."

Both of the brothers chuckle at their dark humor, leaving their mother less than amused.

"Very well," she says and rises to her paws to end their meeting. "I will send a patrol to scour the gorge border. I will relay this information to Pikestar. Frogjaw would like to see you two now. He's in the moss hollow."

Curling their lips once the dark gray she-cat leaves, Smoothfur and Duskbelly imitate gagging and retching complete with sounds once out of earshot.

Nutfur walks haphazardly near the spot of camp where a limited amount of prey resides when he half hears the conversation between family members. Duskbelly's words of _fox_ suddenly alarm him.

 _Brownpelt's still out there. . ._

 _Forget him. He's the one who walked out on you. He doesn't deserve your sympathy. He still hates you._

During which, the pale tom is pacing, walking toward the entrance when his subconscious yells at him to go after his brother and turning away when it tells him it's not worth it.

He scowls. _I'm certainly not up for living with annoyance if he comes back. He's better off on his own._

 _StarClan forgive me, he's my everything._

Above his head, dark gray shapes creep ominously on the far corners of the sky. A distant rumble sets his pelt on edge. Off to the side of his thoughts, Nutfur mildly considers the implications of growling clouds and suspects their drought is soon to come to an end.

But rain is the furthest thought from his head.

 _I have to get to Brownpelt!_

Picking his lumbering body off its lazy streak, the pale tom gives a once over of the clearing before setting out, light on his paws. The tendrils of foliage rustle in a swishing motion that announces a leave of absence which draws the attention of a few cats but is easily dismissed.

Casually dismissed by all except the short limbed medicine apprentice who remains outside the den in hopes to collect his thoughts.

Flicking an ear in curiosity, he follows.

* * *

The roar of the dark clouds in the sky loom closer in perspective to the Clan cats, thinner wisps fanning out toward the rest of the blue and overlapping its color with foreboding shadows. The crinkling crunch of dead plants echoes over the blood pounding in his ears, reminding him he's still of solid ground and there isn't a cause for disconnection. As a sharp sting blooms on the underside of one of his pads, he's sure he's stepped on an unseen thorn most likely dragged somehow from the main, external barrier walls. However, he doesn't have the time to halt and waste useless time tearing it out. Infection be cursed, Clearwater would chastise him but in the end, it was her job to heal cats. And heal an infection, she would.

So Nutfur keeps running, bounding over little divots in the earth cast by large puddles since then evaporated by the drought. With nimble paws he weaves around a dense thicket near the heart of RiverClan's territory. Of course their camp has to be the furthest back from anything remotely useful.

The dry earth wounds his cracked pads, and he finds himself wishing to StarClan that the rain would moisten the ground and make it suitable to walk upon once again. The storm drifts ever so closer, rewarding the warrior with the calming waft of wetness. An unexplainable scent of airy water is rarely hated by a RiverClan cat. Their kin embraces the comfort of the waves in the wind. The combination of moody gray skies and thick pits of mud are widely considered to be home for a cat belonging to the river.

Nutfur is no exception.

The purified blood of the river courses through his veins with valliant ferocity.

His heart beats faster, blood pumping to his ears at a faster rate and nearly succeeds in washing away the scent of terror.

And not his own.

Tearing through the final copse of dying plants, an overwhelming gust of scents overload his senses. In the midst of chaos, he's able to briefly identify the fear, the blood, and the gristly stench of a predator.

Its stark red fur contrasts the dull ambiance of the sunlight. Its beady amber eyes glow with the intent to kill, animalistic hunger burning with a violent passion. The hulking beast suffers clearly from the drought, its ribs easily seen against its ragged and worse for wear coat. Regardless of its weakened state, the fox still poses a formidable threat.

Especially against a much smaller Brownpelt in the throes of violence.

The fox slashes downward with its right foreleg, a hulking paw nearly the size of Brownpelt's face aiming to strike. When its clawing tactic fails as the nimble feline swerves to dodge, the great beast snaps its maw agape with jagged, rotting fangs.

Nutfur can only imagine the stench up close and personal.

Brownpelt pulls back sharply with a crying yelp, suddenly terrified at the thought of death before given a chance to redeem himself. When his frazzled nerves become too much to control, he ends up dodging the incorrect direction and slams his face into the brunt of a clawed appendage which leaves a wince worthy set of slices and a heavy slam backwards. Brownpelt cries again at the shock of the impact. His sprawling motion has him tripping over his own awkwardly sized paws and he ends up flat on his back.

Nutfur holds himself back. Perhaps the kit can handle himself. It's not as if he'd want Nutfur's help anyways if their prior conversation said anything about their current relationship.

The fox lunges with a feral snarl and aims for the exposed belly.

There's no chance for a dodge as ugly teeth bite into tender flesh and exploits a pained howl as the poor young cat struggles to claw himself away and manages to clip the fox's nose in order to escape.

Even from afar the wound looks atrocious. Against his dark pelt, it has the appearance of water clinging to his undercoat as if he'd just come back from a splash in the river. But Nutfur knows better than to assume that heavy gush of wet fur is anything but blood. From the looks of it, Brownpelt is staggering on his paws - a floundering invalid. Before the inevitable collapse, Nutfur breaks from his hiding spot amongst the sparse grasslands.

"Mangeface! I'm talkin' to you!" Nutfur yowls in a flurry of fur and claws in a direct collision course with the haggard fiend.

Faced with another opponent, the fox averts its attention and wastes its efforts on the new threat instead of plucking the immobilized Brownpelt and running off like any self respecting coward. Like before, it bites and thrashes but its bulky figure proves no match for supreme agility of a sleek bodied RiverClan warrior. Within seconds, Nutfur wriggles under the stomach and delivers a revenge blow to the belly with a bite that could crush a fish spine. And before the fox has a chance to retaliate a blow down below, Nutfur crawls from the danger, in his jaws a trophy of his accomplishment - a thick tuft of underbelly fur. With the flanks unmarred and free, the warrior lunges for the exposed sides and rakes his claws against a bony ribcage.

The fox howls in ear splitting pain, an agonized mixture of painful canine cries and enraged horror. Deciding the pain not worth it, the mange-pelt scuttles off past the warrior and deeper into RiverClan territory.

Heaving and panting, Nutfur thinks he should care that the beast is headed in the vague direction of camp instead of away from it, but he has more pressing matters at paw and couldn't care less about the heavily injured fox.

"Brownpelt?" he mews hoarsely, padding closer for an inspection. Relief washes over his frazzled self when he discovers his brother still breathing. It turns to a feeling of uneasiness when Brownpelt is found unconscious. _Despite it all, he looks rather peaceful. I'm sorry, Brownpelt. For the things I said that caused us to separate. I hope you can forgive me, frogface._

"What are you waiting for? Strike him!"

Nutfur whirls around as a bristle rushes through his pelt. His gaze lands on Featherpaw galloping from the grass, bounding closer with a frown marring his face. "What are you doing here?" Nutfur growls at the other's approach. He's clearly not interested in the intrusion.

"That matters not," Featherpaw hisses, his soft fur bristling akin to Nutfur's. He's more than marginally upset. "What matters, is that you saved him! How? Why? Why didn't you let the fox kill him? You would be the victor! RiverClan would rejoice! Half-Clans are a scourge! Your destiny would be completed!"

Something inside of Nutfur snaps.

Hard.

His claws unsheath, tearing relentlessly at the soil as he hauls himself to his paws, fixing the apprentice with a murderous glare.

Hostility burns in his green orbs, narrowed and hungry for the kill.

Featherpaw has the good graces to tremble a little.

 _"Why?_ Why you ask?" Nutfur's shuddering with the rage he's managing to suppress. It's all that keeps him from ripping the tinier cat in half and pasting this field with his blood. "Because he's my brother _you daft dungface!"_

Featherpaw recoils at the choice of language.

Nutfur pursues yelling. "He's my brother! He's _family!_ Which unsurprisingly, you don't know anything about since yours is about as loving and caring as a dead fish! I practically raised this scrap of fur! He's my responsibility and no amount of _StarClan's will_ and dumb _prophecies_ will prevent me from taking care of _my little brother!"_

"I'm a messenger of the stars," Featherpaw stiffens. "You can't speak to me this -"

"No one gives a flying fishtail!" Nutfur interrupts him with ferocity, the bloodlust glowing brilliantly in contrast the pulsating fear in Featerpaw's. "He's the only family I got. I can't give up on him. You can preach all you want about a stupid omen, but you listen to me, and you listen good. I will not be toyed with. I will not act out someone else's desires for their benefit. _I will not hurt Brownpelt._ Are we clear?"

Featherpaw swallows loudly, his own legs quivering. "As a shallow minnow pool."

Snorting at the old saying that passes from generation to generation in RiverClan bloodline, Nutfur keeps true to his word on looking after Brownpelt and swings the lanky lump up on his back for easier transport back to camp. Nutfur doesn't make eye contact with Featherpaw and leaves the medicine cat apprentice alone by the gorge to contemplate over his choices.

Featherpaw blinks.

 _"Which unsurprisingly, you don't know anything about since yours is about as loving and caring as a dead fish!"_

 _"He's the only family I got."_

 _"I can't give up on him."_

 _"...yours is about as loving and caring as a dead fish!"_

 _"I will not hurt Brownpelt."_

 _"...dead fish!"_

He suddenly exhales the breath he hadn't known he was holding, followed by a violent shudder. All the while, something nags at the depths of his mind and yanks at his heartstrings.

What is this feeling?

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Angst angst turmoil feelings sadness blood violence angst angst more feelings. Sums up this chapter quite nice, no? XD Nutfur - watch your mouth, Featherpaw - the world doesn't revolve around you, calm your 'messenger of the stars' blabber, and Brownpelt. . . think before you act. Running off has to be one of your more stupid ideas.  
_

 _ **Pondfrost** : Yea, if the Clans already figured out that Brownpelt was half-Clan, it wouldn't be long before everyone pointed paws at Oakfrost. Even then, I believe she would have been supportive as only a mother can try to be. Also, if I had written her in here, I realize that she would have taken no sh!t from Featherpaw. Like honestly, she would have _ shut him down. _She made some bad decisions but in my head, if she had lived, she's a badass. XD_

 _ **Starrysong likes Snowstorms** : They're basically the equivalent of teenagers who don't control their emotions very well. XP And yes, I'm sure their mother would have calmed them down tremendously. Too bad she's not around. Oops. _

_**Ankaa Morningstar** : Ankaa, if I replied to every review in proper analysis. . . it would be another chapter entirely. So for now, I'll just profusely thank you for taking the time to read and review. I'm glad you finished TJ as well, looking forward to your response to the ending ;)_

 _QotC: And the plots unfurls. I'm pretty sure you can all see where this is going. So while you dwell on what's to come, let's take it back a few moons. How does a blast to the past on Featherpaw's side of the story sound?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	10. Contemplation

"Contemplation"

* * *

"Hmph. Hasn't opened his eyes yet, has he?"

"Not yet. Real shame too - I was hoping for all of my kits to bloom at the same time. Shykit and Redkit are looking a little restless. I told them they couldn't explore any portion of the camp until Featherkit's eyes are open."

Frogjaw brushes up against his mate, contentedly resting his white jaw atop the crest of the dark gray queen's head as they survey their second litter. "Redkit looks like she'll be a fighter," he surmises in murmured thought, watching his little scrap of a daughter wrestle around the nest for the perfect milk spot. "Remind me again why we settled on Shykit for him?" He gestures to the spotted tabby tom, perfectly still as he sleeps soundlessly.

"He hasn't spoken a word," Shallowfern reminds him and sweeps her tail around her litter in a protective motion. "Russetburr said he didn't cry or wail during birth. He'll always be my shy little bumblebee." She nuzzles the kit affectionately.

"You can't be too soft on them," Frogjaw reminds the gray feline, watching her face fall in realization. "They'll be hunters, fighters, stone faced warriors. They'll be the pride and joy of RiverClan. Our bloodline is vital. We can't afford to raise timid scraps of fur. Reedpaw and Smoothpaw turned out alright. Duskpaw too. I'm not too sure about Sunpaw. He's too aloof lately. Perhaps we need to schedule an intervention."

Shallowfern swishes her tail in contemplation. "At least not right now. Sunpaw can learn from his older brothers. I'm more worried about raising these three right now. Do you think they'll be difficult to raise?"

Frogjaw chuckles, low and warm. "Shallowfern, my sweet waterside mallow bundle, you've already raised four rambunctious toms. I think you can safely handle another trio. And look, we finally have a daughter."

"I'm still worried about Featherkit. What if he doesn't open his eyes?"

"If anything, we should be more worried about Shykit. A kit that doesn't wail or whine as a kit is surely marked by StarClan. I'll have a word with Russetburr today."

Shallowfern doesn't look convinced.

Frogjaw stretches out his rippling muscles beneath a well groomed coat. "Featherkit will be fine, I promise. Besides, nothing a little extra training won't help. He'll be a noble warrior - I can sense it. Even with that fluffy name you gave him."

"He's the softest of the three," Shallowfern argues gently, doting after her youngest with a motherly swipe of tongue across his rumpled head fur. "Like bird feathers. . ."

* * *

"Shallowfern, why is it we can't visit the elders den?"

Shallowfern glances down at the kits curled up against her belly. Apparently she was wrong to think they'd all be asleep by now. Curiously enough, it's only one kit as opposed to the trio asking a barrage of aimless questions. Redkit asks questions all the time, eagerly wanting to know more about the techniques they'll learn from their father when they're old enough. Sometimes, even for a quiet kit, Shykit manages to squeak out a query once in a while. Most of the time they're basic statements; _"Are we allowed to go outside?"_ or _"Can we play with Ripplemask's kit?"_ This time, it's Featherkit - who just so happens to be the most inquisitive.

"That den breaks from reality," Shallowfern answers matter-of-factly. "While they are nice cats - you'll meet them someday - they tell stories for amusement. And that's the point, _they're stories._ You can't live off of mere stories to make it through life. You'll be a brave little warrior, Featherkit. I can tell. But you mustn't stuff your head with folly and falsehood. We live in a world slightly different from theirs. You must focus on your mission. You'll become a great warrior. Fighting and hunting is much more important than stories. Do you understand?"

The tiny kit bobs his head. "I think so," he squeaks.

A silky smile blossoms on the queen's face, impressing her son and urging him to express a certain innocent tenderness in return. "That's my little warrior. Now come along and let's go to sleep." In finality, she drapes her tail gingerly across the backs of her second litter.

Yet, Featherkit continues to speak. "Um, Shallowfern?"

Shallowfern grunts, suppressing her fatigued annoyance. "Yes, darling?"

"I can't sleep. Can you tell me one to help me fall asleep?"

"One what?" Shallowfern thinks she knows the answer but keeps her thoughts to herself, hoping for the best.

"One story," the youngest kitten beams with a proud little puff of his chest to expose that white dash.

"Now, Featherkit," the gray she-cat warns, vocals dropping with a scowl replacing her velvet features. "What did I just say? Stories stuff your head. Pointlessly, might I add. Wouldn't you rather have your mind full of useful information? Hunting skills, fighting techniques. . . Things like that."

"Yes. . ."

"Then we'll stop this story nonsense," Shallowfern insists, ending their discussion. "I think tomorrow we should introduce you three to Pikestar. The deputy's kits are prized possessions after all. He'll take a liking to you. Now. Sleep."

* * *

"Oh hello there, youngster! Come on in, don't be shy."

Blinking owlishly, the tiny scrap of feather-soft fur shuffles the rest of the way through the lichen draped log and steps timidly into the light.

"Oh! You must be part of Shallowfern's litter." A great big brown tomcat sits in a mossy nest off to the right. "I've heard about you three. Can't say I've seen any of you recently. You're the first to come and visit me and Icethroat."

It's this announcement that draws the little kit's attention to another tom in the den. Gray fur tinges his dulled brown coat, a thick stripe of faded white stretching from his throat to his underbelly. Obviously this is the Icethroat that the other cat is referring to.

"Pardon me, where are my manners?" the younger brown cat mrrows, sitting upright in his nest. "I'm Thornswipe. And what's your name?"

"F-featherkit, sir," the black kitten answers politely and honestly, bowing his head in the presence of the elder feline.

"And so polite too!" Thornswipe exclaims his glee. "Well, don't be shy Featherkit. Come closer. Would you like to hear a story? Your siblings haven't stopped by to hear one."

Featherkit takes a tentative step forward, almost hesitant in nature. "I'd enjoy that," he mews quietly. "But I don't think Shallowfern would like that. She says I shouldn't stuff my head with stories and focus on more important things like learning how to hunt and fight."

"You're only a kit," Thornswipe's smile falls faint. "You should be running around camp exploring the dens and getting into trouble. You should be calling Shallowfern 'mama' and dashing to her when things get too scary. You should be coming her to listen to stories and fill your heads with dreams and possibilities. You can be a great warrior one day, Featherkit. Come and stay."

Featherkit looks conflicted, looking back between the log and the elders.

"Let the kit go, Thornswipe," a raspy wheeze sounds from the other side. Icethroat has lifted his head and stares hollowly in the direction of the spiky furred brown cat. "It's not in your place to keep him here. If his mother wishes him to leave, let him leave."

"Thank you," Featherkit whispers quietly, somewhat of an ashamed whimper and he darts back the way he came through.

"But Icethroat -" Thornswipe weakly protests once the kitten leaves, only to be cut off by the aging tom.

"No Thornswipe. He is not yours to dictate. He has a family to think of firstly. Let him go. If he wants to come back, he will."

Featherkit doesn't return.

* * *

"Ow, ow, Redkit get offa me!"

"Redkit, freeze."

The booming voice of Frogjaw pulls Redkit away from her squealing brother as they previously tussle on the loose soil. Beside the great black warrior, Featherkit observes in silence, sitting in prized composure and compliance.

"Shykit, why did you call the match?"

"Because it hurt," the spotted kit whines pathetically, curling in on himself in a cowering motion with the dirt particles still clinging to his thin pelt. "I don't like this game."

"This game is practice for your future," Frogjaw tries to be patient with the tabby tomkit. "You must fight back. Redkit is a pushover, knock her over. You're a powerful tom."

Shykit wraps his tail closer to his central body. "Can I switch with Featherkit?"

Frogjaw sighs audibly, clearly displeased with his other son's response. "Very well," he reluctantly agrees, flicking his tail to announce the trade off between the brothers.

Obediently, Featherkit stumbles out into the ring of dirt to face his sister as per instructions without a second thought. As their father gives the call, the small kits crash awkwardly together in a rough and tumble clump of dirty fur. They weakly lash out with their useless paws, floundering for balance as they fall multiple times.

Frogjaw tries to not look disappointed. Shallowfern would say they're only kits, after all.

"Shykit, are you hurt?" Featherkit bounds over to his brother after the match, all kits sufficiently coated in dirt. Shallowfern would have a field day with this. He begins to look over the spotted coat for signs of injuries like he saw Russetburr do once when he'd been sent to the medicine den with a strong bout of coughing.

"Featherkit, go and find Reedpaw and Smoothpaw," Frogjaw orders as he approaches the toms. "Shykit is fine. He only wanted to avoid fighting. I'm going to have a talk with him. Run along, Featherkit. Good boy."

Mildly disappointed that he couldn't stay to properly help, Featherkit races away - still under orders from his father and leader-like figure.

He runs into Sunpaw on his way to search for the his eldest brothers.

"Where's the fire?" Sunpaw jokes, barely winded by the collision. Featherkit suffered more from the blow by the way he places a paw atop his head, as if clutching it in numb pain.

"Nowhere," Featherkit answers flatly once over his bout of pain. "Father sent me to find Reedpaw and Smoothpaw. Have you seen them?"

"For StarClan's sake, kit, can't you think for yourself?" Sunpaw huffs in annoyance. Featherkit stares up at him unblinkingly which sends a shiver down the older tomcat's spine. "Jeez, don't do that. They're over there tussling in the grass over by the small stream. Be careful not to fall in. We clear?"

"As a shallow minnow pool," the kitten replies without a smile, reciting the verse from memory just as his parents had when they were kits. Sunpaw rolls his eyes and saunters off, golden fur shimmering in the dappled sunlight. Featherkit watches him leave before charging off in the direction of the eldest siblings wrapped up in a mock battle of their own beside the little stream that ran along the outskirts of camp.

* * *

"You hate their rules too, don't you?"

". . . yes."

"Then band with me! We can form a little rebellion and get out of this life."

". . . that sounds nice."

Wandering in a tight stride with a tiny fish in his jaws, Featherkit passes by the brush behind the medicine den and overhears the voices of his brothers - Sunpaw and Shykit. He knows he shouldn't eavesdrop - Shallowfern cuffed him around the ear when he was listening in on a private conversation between her and Frogjaw. He decides to investigate, planning on telling Father and receiving praise for his efforts of catching a plot against the family.

"We should tell Redkit and Featherkit too," Sunpaw proposes. "Give them a chance to leave before they're raised the wrong way."

Listening in, holed up in the shadows unseen, Featherkit frowns. He hasn't been raised wrong. Shallowfern guided him, Redkit and Shykit very well. There was nothing wrong about her methods.

"You're wrong," Featherkit feels the need to correct Sunpaw, stepping into sight which shocks both felines.

"Featherkit!" Shykit squeals in fear and backs up into the overlapping shadows to hide himself.

"How much did you hear?" Sunpaw asks tentatively.

"Enough to know you're wrong," the kit retorts bitterly. "How can you say that about Shallowfern's teachings? She's been nothing but kind to us. How can you plan a rebellion? Nothing is wrong with our family!"

"Don't you understand? Everything's wrong with our family." The golden tom appears fatigued and defeated, as if accepting the punishment that would no doubt come his way if Featherkit was the 'good little warrior' his parents always claimed he was.

"You can't say that!" Featherkit insists with a kitten growl and tears out of the brush, Shykit on his heels yelling, "Featherkit, wait!"

The black kit does not waver in step, wailing for his father somewhere midst the midday bustle. He yelps in surprise as a sudden weight heaves itself across his back, crushing him to the ground and pinning him.

"You can't tell Father!" Shykit cries. "I don't wanna be in trouble! He'll get mad at us!"

"Then that's your problem!" Featherkit rebukes with a frustrated hiss and throws his littermate off with superior strength. Shykit tumbles to the soil and by the time he regains conscious awareness of his extremities, the little black kitten has already found their father and is currently perched beside him. Frogjaw flicks his tail, beckoning the spotted kit closer.

"Go get Sunpaw. We need to have a talk," he says without noticeable emotion.

Featherkit observes the fear in his littermate's eyes before the spotted tomkit turns away in hasty search of Sunpaw.

* * *

"Well done," praises Frogjaw to his youngest, looking down at the kit with an appreciative glower. "I only wish these two share your morals and ethics - your abilities to listen and submit. Some cats just don't know when to not fight the rules." At this, the great black cat stares down his other two sons involved in the conspiracy.

Shykit is trembling with fear, his thin pelt standing on end.

Sunpaw seems shamed. His head ducks low as he stares absently at his broad paws. He didn't mean to upset his father. He just hated the rules.

And those who rebelled. . .

"Shykit?"

. . . were punished.

The little kit jerks and squeaks in a terribly shaky voice. "Yes?"

"Come and sit by Featherkit. Your punishment will not be as severe as Sunpaw's seeing as you were being manipulated and subjected to bad feelings."

As the small Shykit comes to take a spot beside the youngest, Frogjaw advances toward the golden tom.

"Sunpaw, on your back. Now."

Already stranded on thin ice due to his plotting, Sunpaw decides it best to roll over and take it like a tom. Biting his tongue to hold back any harsh retort that would land him in more trouble, the golden feline complies, albeit begrudgingly, and lays down in the soil a fair distance away from the central clearing.

Had it been a truly severe punishment, Frogjaw would have wanted this event to be seen by the public.

Sunpaw lays sprawled on his back, legs suspended and hanging in the air limply. Already he feels embarrassed in such a submissive position. But then again, that is part of the point. Frogjaw looms over the golden cat, looking positively feral. Baring his fangs, the much bigger feline bows his head, nestling his muzzle near the hind leg joint. His teeth grip a thick tuft of fur in the crease, yanking out the patch in a haphazardly jerking motion.

Beneath him, Sunpaw writhes at the jolt of paint as a tuft of his fur is ripped away. Near such a sensitive spot, no less. But it isn't over.

Frogjaw raises a single claw and sets the sharpened weapon gingerly against the pale flesh. He leaves it there for a few heartbeats before pressing down hard and dragging it agonizingly slow toward himself.

Sunpaw stifles his yelps of pain as a line of blood follows the tear, furiously leaking crimson droplets in the area between his legs. No doubt the line will permanently scar. He remains still in his motions even after Frogjaw moves - he hasn't been given the clear for movement.

"Get up," Frogjaw grows harshly, leaving no room for argument. As if in agreement, Sunpaw scrambles to his paws in a furious haste and aims to shake out the grainy soil clinging to the roots of his thick golden pelt. The black tom swerves to stare unemotionally at his other sons staring with vivid expressions. Shykit seems more terrified while Featherkit blinks with a hollow vacancy.

"That, you two, is what happens when you fight the system," their father announces proudly. "Our way of life is protected and perfected. You do not have the right to change it so easily. Take this as a warning or you'll be punished for your crimes against our name."

* * *

And now?

Now, Featherpaw holds himself poignantly posed in the middle of the field, water droplets releasing themselves from the sky with an announcing rumble. Supposedly, the arrival of rain would be cherished and praised, but Featherpaw can't find himself to care about a few drops as the water globs dapple his pelt. He shifts with a sudden bout of discomfort, reminded of his own scar that lies unseen under his hind leg joint - his penance for revolt. And also the matching mark to Sunpath's.

Absently, he stares in the direction Nutfur carried Brownpelt and then disappeared. His familiar empty gaze is cast across the field. Mindlessly, he scratches at the quickly dampening earth with his claws. He begins to thrash thoughts around in his head.

 _Is Nutfur in the right? Is there more to life than rules and regulations?_

Or even worse;

 _Do I always have to do as commanded?_

 _Or am I free to speak my mind and act as I please?_

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Ehh, I don't feel I expressed his kithood very well. I might return to this and add on in a later chapter in depth but for now I hope you can get a sense for what Featherpaw's early days were like._

 _ **BrightMind** : [chapter eight] I know right? Someone needs to be knocked down a peg or two :3 And I like where your head is at for Oakfrost. Many a person, myself included, believe she'd be a barrier - a comfort zone, but you've considered her making the situation worse. Hmm._

 _[chapter nine] Yeah, if only Brownpelt had heard. . . then maybe some burnt bridges could be repaired. Guess they've got another chapter to make sense of it all and make up for each other._

 _ **Ankaa Morningstar** : OK, yeah, he is the most developed out of everyone but I suppose that alludes to the story's true main character and who this tale is really about~ I'm a bit mad at myself for not expressing his full kithood how I planned, but eh. It'll come up again.  
_

 _ **Starrysong likes Snowstorms** : Yep, yep, yep. _

_**BooksRCoolYeah** : Hopefully this answered some questions you had about his past._

 _ **Pondfrost** : Hope you got a decent insight on Featherpaw's early life. And as for Nutfur? Yeah, he doesn't snap easily but I guess Featherpaw pushed his buttons one too many times. Oh yes, applaud me for my titles :3 I've found plenty of words that end with 'ation'. _

_QotC: I've alluded to the fact that Featherpaw bears the family 'shame scar' - the mark of wrong doing. If Sunpath received his by trying to convert the younger generation against their submissive and pliant lifestyle, obedient and always willing to carry out orders, what crime do you think Featherpaw did to earn his?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	11. Restoration

"Restoration"

* * *

A silvery drop flits in through the cracks in the stone ceiling, landing unceremoniously atop the brown warrior's berry hued nose, effectively terminating his sleep. His head jerks off his paws, suddenly aware of a new surrounding. Another drop falls and echoes with a wet plop as it hits the barren floor. The young warrior attempts to stand in a hurry, unaware of the wounds he sustained prior and immediately yelps in realization, guiding a steady fall back into the nest when a soft face pokes itself from the back of the storeroom.

"Brownpelt!" Clearwater exclaims in a mixture of astonishment and concern. She quickly wriggles from her task and sidles up to the groaning brown cat. "I wasn't expecting you to awake so soon. I estimated a few days at least."

"How. . . how long was I out?" Brownpelt croaks, his voice scratchy and hoarse as he looks over his pelt patched with webbing and infection preventing paste from a collection of herbs whose names elude him.

"Only a sunset. Your brother brought you back yesterday after sun-high. It's almost dusk."

Another set of droplets fall into inside, announcing the presence of a leak above their heads.

"I think it's still raining," Clearwater murmurs softly. "StarClan must be thanking us for enduring the drought for so long. They've rewarded us with proper rainfall. Hopefully this will be enough to keep Birdstar on her side of the river. You remember?" She looks to Brownpelt nestled in his mossy bedding. "She wanted to make another pact to take the river during green-leaf. I wouldn't put it past her try something. Leaders make interesting choices when the fate of their Clan is threatened."

A comfortable silence passes over the pair, with the medicine cat staring aimlessly toward the supposed leak and the warrior lays with his eyes closed and thinks to himself.

"Clearwater?" he finally speaks, keeping his gaze voided and face downcast to his paws. He feels her eyes on him before he continues his question. "Where's my brother?"

Brownpelt hears the she-cat sigh through her nose, a huffing breath. "I wouldn't know. As he dropped you off, he refused to stay much longer after I gaged the time it would take you to regain consciousness. I told him it would be a few days and he left without words. Didn't even thank me, ungrateful flea-pelt. But I haven't left the den since then - I've been too busy organizing and looking after you since my apprentice's disappearance."

"Featherpaw's missing?" Brownpelt cracks his eyes open at that.

"Not missing, persay," the blue-gray tabby shrugs noncommittally. "He just has the tendency to wander. I respect that, in all honesty. I understand he needs his headspace from time to time. He usually just goes herb gathering and I'm fine with that. I don't argue when my herb stocks are replenished."

Reminded of his actions involving the interaction with Featherpaw, it sends a shiver down the warrior's spine. All because Brownpelt had to be the rebellious child and conspire with Featherpaw, Nutfur probably hated him.

Oh StarClan.

That's why Nutfur wasn't in the medicine den.

He hates Brownpelt.

 _He hates me. Otherwise he'd be here by my side. . ._

"Clearwater?" Brownpelt tries to keep his voice from cracking. "Can I have a poppy seed? I want to sleep."

The medicine cat glances at him dubiously, contemplating the fact that this isn't ideally the best choice.

"Please," he repeats, a little sob in his voice. "I really don't want to be awake right now. Please."

"Very well."

The tabby ducks aside back into her storage chock full of leaves, berries, and assorted plants. She returns with ginger steps, pausing slowly in front of an emotionally strained patient. She shakes the little stem in her jaw, a few black seeds spilling out. She administers two to the thick furred warrior and scrapes the remaining dots onto a broad leaf and carries it back to where it belongs.

Flicking out a pink tongue, Brownpelt laps up the seeds with another stifled cry and swallows loudly before curling himself up into a tight ball. He clamps his eyes shut and waits patiently for the drug to take its effect in sending him to a hopefully dreamless sleep.

* * *

 _"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."_

 _Brownpelt lifts his head in surprise, frantically whipping his gaze around the empty field in search of the catty timbre. Its masculine tone vibrated with power - no doubt a force to be reckoned with._

 _The brown feline chases the moor, the wind blasting in his fur. His heart beats loudly, a steady pump rushing through his veins with a thick pulse. His pawpads grace the softness of the windblown grass, a pleasurable jolt running down his spine._

 _Perhaps this was home._

 _As he pursues the voice, Brownpelt suddenly freezes at the sight of a looming silhouette, glowering and casting an ominous shadow across the flat hill._

 _"Father?" Brownpelt asks tentatively, his muscles tense with anticipation and a minor case of anxiety._

 _"My son." Answers the voice, warm wafting._

 _The thick furred feline puts on a burst of speed, rushing with a swiftness he hadn't known he had to meet the shadow in a familial embrace._

 _"I knew you were alive," Brownpelt smiles, giddy as the shadow provides an odd amount of comfort. "Nutfur didn't think you were still living after Mom died. Are you proud of me?" He expects the amused chuckle - but he doesn't expect the sudden acidic turn it takes within a few seconds. Out of fear, Brownpelt takes large steps back, widely staring up at the manic shadow creature._

 _"Oh, Brownpelt," it croons, perfectly bitter. "Proud? Of an abomination like you? Please. You're a disgrace to the Clans. You shame RiverClan and WindClan just by merely existing. You're a taint to society. You're a plague. You can't even take responsibility for your own actions,. You tried to kill Nutfur! Your own brother!" The shadow continues to taunt, mocking a gasp with a sadistic, jagged smile. "You ran away like a coward, you couldn't even defend yourself against a fox and got yourself grounded. You're broken, Brownkit. You'll never be half the cat your brother is. You'll never amount to anything. Never. . ."_

* * *

Brownpelt awakes to the sound of his own crying. His face is an ugly mess of watery tears that smear his facial fur in fat globs. A cracking sob escapes his throat, breaking the silence of the den with a vocal shatter. He half expects someone - Clearwater most likely - to rush around the corner and instantly quell his cries of panic.

But no one comes.

And Brownpelt is left to wail unabashed, alone with his thoughts.

He doesn't know how long he's left like this - struggling to stifle his bawling whilst staring teary-eyed at the crack in the cave roof. It feels like hours until the furious shuffling of paws echo just outside the den. Gasping and panting, throwing himself inside, is none other than the very cat who brought him in here in the first place.

Nutfur.

"Oh, StarClan. Brownpelt, you gotta calm down!" Worriness creeps in Nutfur's voice, his yelling matching the incoherent wailing.

"You- you-you-" Brownpelt blubbers. He's floundering for something solid to hold on to, successfully throwing his bony figure into the embrace of his sibling. Nutfur pulls the other tomcat in a tight enclosure, his paw supporting the other's back in an attempt to keep him close to the comfort.

"Let it out," Nutfur drops his voice, knowing there isn't much way to get Brownpelt to stop until he releases all of the suppressed tension flooding his organs.

"You can't- you can't be h-here!" Brownpelt furiously hiccups. "You hate me an you don't care about me an I'ma failure! I mess everything up and- and- I can't stop cry-y-ying!"

Nutfur growls. "You listen to me. I don't hate you. At all. I care about you. All the time. You're certainly not a failure. Never was, never will be. We all make mistakes, I'll admit to making some myself. Many of which I regret. And if you try to stop crying, you're only going to repress it. Now let it out."

Brownpelt is full out yowling now, unknowingly imitating a birthing queen with the way his breathing is uneven, mixed in between with painful howling.

Nutfur is surprised when no one comes inside to check. He's sure they're making enough noise to be heard all the way to Fourtrees. Nonetheless, Nutfur lets the emotion wash away with every gut wrenching caterwaul. Finally, the explosive shaking subsides to a harmless shudder.

There's a rustle in the rear of the den, followed by the appearance of a slender blue-gray tabby clutching a specimen of leaf. She moves slowly as to not startle the pair. Her gaze catches Nutfur, inaudibly asking them permission to approach. She witnesses a subtle nod and advances with soft paces, dropping the herb by the tomcats.

"Thyme," she whispers with a hint of fondness. "For shock." Clearwater gestures to Brownpelt who is still a little bit shaky from his release.

Nutfur mouths a 'thank you' and watches as the she-cat smiles and swerves around them to exit the den from the opposite end she entered.

"Hey, Brownpelt," Nutfur murmurs softly. "Can you eat this for me?" He reaches for the leaf, gingerly picking it up to where the thicker furred feline can grab it easily.

Weakly, Brownpelt pulls back from the tight embrace to inspect what Nutfur is offering. He expects a piece of prey and visibly twitches at the sight of the herbal remedy. With great reluctance he nips the plant, chews, and swallows down the bitter taste. With every crunch, he can feel the drug taking effect to soothe his frazzled nerves. It's a nerve calming leaf with a sticky tang.

"I'm sorry," he slurs haphazardly, slumped and falling to his side as a result from going limp and boneless. There's a silence and Brownpelt assumes he's meant to continue. So he does. "I'm sorry for lying to you, I'm sorry for yelling at you, I'm sorry I brought Mom into this, I'm sorry I made you mad, I'm sorry I disappointed you, I'm sorry I tried to run, I'm just. . . sorry."

A soft sigh releases itself from the elder brother's nostrils. A short, quick exhale in order to relieve himself from the inner turmoil.

"I'm sorry, too."

* * *

"I'm sorry, what are we doing out here again?"

"Do you always listen so carelessly? I said, I'm in need much desired guidance. These past few days have been. . . _confusing_ , to say the least, and I need StarClan's opinion."

Two small cats of contrasting colors pace themselves through the four great oaks, bypassing the set entirely with a fervent goal in mind. It isn't until they feel the windblown grass beneath their wrinkled pads do they break the nighttime silence.

"What do you hope to hear?"

Featherpaw's muscles flex at his brother's question, nearly causing him to break stride. With a brief stumble, he regains a steady footing and resumes a stern pace uphill through the WindClan moors. "I don't know," he admits, feeling unusually wary. "I just need answers. I've been experiencing feelings."

"Is this about Nutfur?" Sunpath queries, quizzically staring sideways to his youngest brother.

"Do you believe in destiny?" Featherpaw ignores the prior question, asking one of his own.

"Not particularly," Sunpath answers leisurely, heavily exhaling a breath of warm air into the night's cool. "I believe that everyone has their own opportunities to shape their future. No amount of pre-destined prophecies are going to change that. Use me as an example. If some StarClan cat told me I was going to die tomorrow, would I accept it? No. I'd spend every moment reshaping my fate until I came out on top - alive and breathing. See? You can argue against destiny. You don't have to follow it. You can fight back."

"I see." Is Featherpaw's simple reply, monotonous and flat.

He asks no more questions.

* * *

 _A/N:  
_

 _Sorry it's kind of short this time. I've been pretty busy this week and keeping up with my chapters has been a little difficult. Next one will be a little longer and more interesting._

 _ **Pondfrost** : So you like Shallowfern? Interesting. I can see why though. She actually was a nurturing mother who slowly became more stern. She did have her rules but she was a bit more caring toward kits as opposed to full grown warriors. And yes, everyone hates Frogjaw. He doesn't really have any redeeming qualities since he's such a rule stickler, a bit abrasive and definitely somewhat abusive. I will say that yes, Featherpaw's injury coincides with him being a medicine cat. At this point, he may regret it, but I don't think he did when he was a brainwashed kitten._

 _ **Starrysong likes Snowstorms** : Medicine cat does indeed stain their family. Frogjaw and Shallowfern raised their kits based on morals of hunting and fighting. So if that's true, what's the punishment for becoming a medicine cat, hmm? Also, the reason RiverClan doesn't do much as a whole is due to a few reasons. Shallowfern is deputy, Pikestar is old and probably lucid, having to rely on his deputy half of the time anyways. A decently sized portion of the Clan is kin of Frogjaw and Shallowfern as well. _

_QotC: What do you think StarClan is going to say to Featherpaw regarding his situation? What do you think is their opinion?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	12. Hesitation

"Hesitation"

* * *

Sunpath swoops to a sitting position in a fluid motion, nestling his thick furred pelt between a set of small rocks and the exterior cave wall leading inside to the Moonstone. His hazel eyes glint in the shadowy light of the haunting moon, gazing cautiously after his younger sibling as the black cat slips easily through the tunnel. Afraid of breaking the serenity too much, he calls softly, "Featherpaw, take your time. Good luck."

The medicine cat apprentice does not reply, his answer nothing more than the subtle crunch of the littered twigs and gravelly bits of earth as he disappears into the darkness. Even with his heightened senses, Featherpaw finds his path to be challenging. The last time he was here was with Clearwater when all of the medicine cats met to share dreams. He doesn't remember the way and is forced to let his whiskers brush the wall, leading him further and further away from identifiable life. He still has time to turn back. He's made no turns and made no errors thus far. He can easily wriggle around and slip back out through the entrance. Still, Featherpaw places one paw in front of the other, leading a straight path down the narrow channel. His whiskers brush up against the curved walls, senses flaring alive even throughout the lifeless chasm.

A subtle glimmer shines a dapple of color in the barest bit of earth nearly three fox lengths ahead. Following his instincts, Featherpaw aims his stride closer until the tunnel breaks into a much larger cavern. Straight ahead is the hulking mound of a sacred stone perched nearly perfectly in the center. Unfortunately, with his visit being out of sync with the rest of the medicine cats, there isn't a substantial amount of starlight to properly illuminate the Moonstone.

At best, it's a dull glimmer catching just the faintest bits of moonlight.

Featherpaw breathes a sigh through his mouth, tight clipped facade fading with a well placed release.

"Please," he pleads. "I have questions. I need answers, StarClan. Help me. Please."

He approaches with loping steps, bounding closer with elongated motions before pulling to a halt just in front of the magnificent stone. Before he has another chance to hesitate, the apprentice slumps to his belly, shoving his nose forward to touch the Moonstone. Lately, he's been too wired to think about sleeping but there's a certain calmness that wafts in the cavern, urging him toward a quicker sleep.

* * *

"Hello?" Featherpaw calls into the hazy dreamscape, endlessly surrounded by a mystical fog. He can't see his own paws in the thickness, nor can he see any signs of other life. He chooses to believe someone is here though. "I've come for answers. I have some questions I need answered. Hello?"

"Yes, Featherpaw. I've heard your prayers. I've come to help you."

Turning around at the bell-chime voice, tinkling with amusement, Featherpaw finds himself face to face with Russetburr again.

"Oh, Russetburr," he heaves in relief, thanking the stars. "Thank you. I have many things to tell you."

The dark ginger tabby she-cat conjures a smile as a warm purr settles in her throat. With a sweep of her bushy tail, the feline of grandeur seats herself midst the fog. "Kin of stars, speak to me. Enlighten me with your woes and I will do my best to help. What lies on your mind, young one?"

"Everything, Russetburr," Featherpaw sighs dejectedly. "Everything. I told the brothers about the omen - how they were supposed to engage in a war leaving one and only one of them victorious. Suffice to say, it hasn't been going well. Now, neither of them refuse to partake in any suggestion I make regarding destiny or prophecy."

"You give them time, young one," Russetburr answers politely, an entertained grin on her muzzle. "You are patient. Simply give them more time to contemplate their choices. They'll see reason."

"I've given them time!" Featherpaw loses his composure long enough to yelp out his reply. He intakes a sudden bout of air and takes a quick step backward in his shame. "That was unkind of me," he hangs his head in submission. "I apologize. But I must say this, time is not going to help. I have been patient with them for this past quarter-moon. Neither refuses to budge on their standpoint. Especially the eldest. He insists it's family. His brother is family."

 _"Which unsurprisingly, you don't know anything about since yours is about as loving and caring as a dead fish!"_

"Russetburr, he - Nutfur - called me out on my own family."

The StarClan cat's pelt ruffles noticeably. "He has shamed you and therefore he has shamed your family. He must be punished."

"But Russetburr," Featherpaw protests, watching the former medicine cat's amber eyes flicker with a dangerous aura. It's almost like looking at a different cat. He own body quivers with uneasiness, his heart starting to ache in an unfamiliar way. "Russetburr, I think he's right. I don't understand my own family. They have never stood up for me when I was in peril. Brownpelt was saved in the throes of a violent exchange with a fox by his own brother. Had I been thrown down by that fox, I doubt any of my siblings would lend a paw in assistance. Only if for the point of preserving the family bloodline."

"There are different meanings for family. Nutfur's is unorthodox. Follow what you believe." Russetburr says, cryptically blunt.

Featherpaw meows, "That is the problem. I do not know of what I choose to believe in anymore. Russetburr, it's a visual wonder to behold. Nutfur's version of family is co-dependency and loyalty. It's a balance of love and friendship. It's a bond. I don't think I am able to sever it."

"So you are insinuating that we must find a new half-Clan, pure-blood set of cats to fight to the death?" the orange tabby cocks her head with a creasing frown.

"I'm saying that I'm experiencing. . . something."

"Feelings, Featherpaw. You're undergoing a wave of feelings," Russetburr explains. "Rather useless in our line of work. Medicine cats and their feelings do not count. If we feel for the patient, we get attached and mourn too long when they pass. We cannot create friendships, we cannot create bonds of love, we cannot express ourselves as it gets in the way of completing our mission - saving and preserving the life of the Clans."

"Doubt."

"Pardon?"

Featherpaw turns his bright eyes and ducks them to his paws in a rare moment of weakness. "That's a feeling, isn't it? Doubt?"

"Well, yes. . ."

"Sunpath describes it as a nagging feeling," Featherpaw cuts her off, intending to speak his mind. "He compares it much akin to your chest starting to ache with a sense of wrongness. As if you know you're doing the right thing but something else is telling you it's wrong. That's doubt, correct?"

"Are you experiencing doubt, Featherpaw?" Russetburr demands curtly.

"I'm merely saying that murder isn't the way."

"What have I told you before, kitten? It isn't murder. It is StarClan's will. Who are you to question the greater good?" The orange tabby asks bluntly, meticulous and voice growing in suppressed irritation.

"There's been too much bloodshed in our lives. We as medicine cats should know that." The black cat takes a bold step closer with an underlying anxious feeling gnawing at his insides. "We save cats everyday - how often is it due to bloody wounds?" His rhetorical question has Russetburr dumbfounded for long enough to keep talking. "Is it really necessary to kill cats?"

At this point, the former medicine cat lashes out, spotting her opportunity. "We do not harm them," she growls. "We patch them back together. What does it concern us if they spill the blood? It is their fault in the end. They bring their wounds on themselves. Why does it matter to you if two mentally unstable siblings dish out their frustrations til death? RiverClan would be better off without one or the other."

Featherpaw bristles. "You're talking about life and death as if it doesn't affect you! Are the Clans pawns for you to manipulate? Are we twigs and stones you toss around for your own amusement?"

"I think you've crossed a line here, kitten. To accuse StarClan of such meddling. . . what a brave little ant you are."

"If I've learned anything about bravery, it's that it's valued. If Nutfur bravely stands up for his brother, then I'll stand bravely for what I think is right."

Russetburr leans forward, grinning lecherously. "And what do you think is right, hmm?"

"StarClan is wrong," Featherpaw answers plainly, a little puff to his chest.

"That so?"

"There's more to the Clans than mindless, hollowed logs. Clan cats are valiant and loyal. They stand up for what they believe in. In the Clans, family is important."

 _"He's my brother! He's family!"_

"We don't leave anyone behind."

 _"I can't give up on him."_

"And -"

"And what?" Russetburr interrupts with a snort. "This coming from the scrap whose family beat him? Yes, I'm referring to your scar. You don't know anything. You're a young fool." She thrusts her muzzle closer into Featherpaw's personal space, breathing heavily. "You have a single purpose - carry out the will of StarClan. If you can't do that. . . then what are you? _Who are you?"_

"I'm. . ." Uncertain, he trails off and reluctantly glances back to his shuffling paws.

"Exactly," the she-cat sniffs, stepping back. "Now, if you wish to speak to me with a rational mind, I will be here. I trust enough has been said here to hopefully clear your mind of any doubt you may have. You are dismissed." Bushy tail held high, the StarClan feline saunters away and fades into the mist.

Featherpaw is left feeling undecided. His insides start to crack - bound together with what little rationale he has left.

This hollow experience remains even as he wakes and pulls his muzzle away from the stone.

* * *

"Well? What did they say?"

Featherpaw crawls out quietly from the Mothermouth, downcast and melancholy. "They said a lot of things," he answers after a decisive moment of silence. Blankly, he casts his gaze across the undisturbed moorland. "Sunpath, I think I'm experiencing doubt." He tosses his head quickly to meet his brother's hazel eyes. "Help me, I'm feeling confliction. StarClan wants me to carry out their will - as should a medicine cat, but lately I've. . . I've been questioning myself. I've been questioning them. I don't think it's right to feel this way. It hurts and I'm scared. Sunpath, make this feeling go away."

Instead of offering immediate support, Sunpath promptly throws his head back and laughs.

"Oh, Feathers, you're a riot!"

"Sunpath, I fail to see the humor in this situation. I am scared and I am asking for your help. Please help me," Featherpaw responds tartly, flicking his tongue in distaste as his golden sibling continues chuckling rather loudly for the time of night.

Grinning, Sunpath lurches forward to pull the younger into a brotherly nuzzle. "I'm so glad you're not an emotionless tree stump," he snickers, rubbing fur thoroughly against Featherpaw's. "I was getting worried about you." He steps back just enough to look the medicine cat apprentice in the eye. "Featherpaw, despite what Shallowfern and Frogjaw say, emotions are perfectly natural. You don't need to shun them as if they're something to be frowned upon. Everyone needs some sadness, everyone needs some laughter, everyone needs some happiness. You're allowed to get mad, throw tantrums, rebel. Yes, you're even allowed to feel doubt. It makes you normal."

Featherpaw frowns. "Was I not normal before?"

"Haha, you're hilarious."

* * *

 _A/N:  
_

 _Wow. Russet shut him down. Good old Sunpath is there for reassurance though. Poor Feathers. Doesn't even understand what normal is. Tsk tsk._

 _ **Pondfrost** : Just keep in mind that Brownpelt hasn't actually met his father. He knows he's in WindClan but he doesn't know if he's dead or alive. His overactive imagination has spurred him to think that his real father with shun him. It's part of his fears like abandonment and disappointment. _

_Russetburr is her name, yes. And were you mildly surprised at how the exchange went?_

 _ **Starrysong likes Snowstorms** : Russetburr is a special kind of StarClan cat it seems. :3 You'll see eventually. Glad you liked Brownpelt and Nutfur make-up with each other. Finally. Those two stubborn idiots. XD_

 _QotC: Now that you've more or less seen all of their interactions, what are your opinions on Featherpaw's siblings? Thoughts on Reedrush, Smoothfur, Duskbelly, Sunpath, Redbriar and Shypaw.  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	13. Justification

"Justification"

* * *

Damp moss in her jaws, Clearwater intends to make a silent exit from her den to visit Thornswipe in the elders den he keeps to himself. At the threshold of the entryway, she tosses her head over her shoulder to look at her most recent patients.

Brownpelt sleeps quietly, aided by the nerve calming thyme, whilst Nutfur refuses to leave his side and slumbers a bit more noisily right adjacent to the mossy nest.

She'd found them in close quarters and had decided to leave them in solidarity of their emotions. These two were a mess but at least they had opportunities to let it out.

Clearwater smiles fondly and turns her attention back to her task and proceeds to leave. She only makes headway with three steps before a bumbling black shape thumps against her chest, urging her to take an abrupt step backwards to regain balance.

"Oh, Featherpaw!" she exclaims with a muffled smile.

"Greetings, Clearwater," the tomcat mews quietly - normal for his demeanor, oddly enough. He shakes out his thin pelt in surprise, adjusting to the intrusion.

"Manage to find any herbs while out adventuring?" Clearwater sets the moss aside, tilting her head with an amused grin.

"Sorry, no," the apprentice apologizes with a dip of his head. "Something else required my attention."

"Quite alright," the blue-gray tabby nods, understanding. "I'm going to take this moss to the elders den and chat with Thornswipe. When you go inside, watch out for Nutfur and Brownpelt. They're sleeping. I know you may not get along very well now, but bear with me and abstain from disturbing them. Brownpelt especially is wounded greatly. Mind your tongue." Dipping her head, Clearwater slides out of the way and grabs the moss before bounding off in the direction of the hollow log host to RiverClan's lonely elder.

Heeding his mentor's words, Featherpaw takes great caution in stepping lightly once past the stone passageway. His blue eyes blink in adjustment to the dimmer lighting, subconsciously cast over to the pair of lounging siblings midst the moss bedding at the far corner. Stretching out his spine in the comfort of his own den, Featherpaw cracks out the kinks in his joints before padding as quiet as he can toward the back of the den where the medicine cats make bed.

"What are you doing here?"

Apparently he isn't quiet enough and when Featherpaw turns his head, his gaze meets the hollow green of Nutfur. Featherpaw looks away, ashamed to make any contact with undoubtedly a heated glare. "I sleep here," he replies curtly with an undertone of apathy.

Nutfur appears sated with the answer, offering no comment.

"Look," Featherpaw begins in a small voice, strained and weak, yet he doesn't follow his own advice and closes his eyes to refuse visual contact. "I know I'm the last cat either of you want to see but I'm here to say I'm sorry. I understand your hatred of me, I do not blame you for such. I am a lowly ant. Just know that I severely regret my actions these past moons. I don't expect your forgiveness."

There's a hanging silence in the air.

Featherpaw slowly opens his eyes and steals a quick glance to the side, discovering that Brownpelt's eyes are open as well.

Nutfur snorts, holding his chin up high in disdain. "Good. Cause you're not getting any forgiveness from us."

Featherpaw lets his head bob slightly in understanding. He sighs under his breath and paces lazily in his original destination. His tail droops and his ears fall flat - slumbering into that wave of submission that his parents always wanted.

* * *

"You were a little harsh on him," Brownpelt mews several seconds after the medicine cat apprentice has lumbered off out of earshot. "You saw how dejected he looked."

"I don't know why you're defending that flea-pelt," Nutfur is on the verge of clipped hiss, his bristled pelt a warning not to carry this conversation too far down the rabbit hole. "Especially since he manipulated you - _lied_ to you. I told you he was dangerous and you went along with his plans anyways. You played with fire and got burned; don't feel sorry for the flames."

Brownpelt winces, reminded of his tangle with the tomcat. Because of Featherpaw, Brownpelt had said a lot of _stupid_ things, _heartless_ things. . . He did things he'd regret and nearly got himself _killed._

Nutfur is in the right to protest against the medicine 'paw.

The younger sibling opens his maw in response but is ultimately cut off by a furry head sticking inside the entryway to the den.

It's Splashtail.

"Shallowfern's been announcing patrols," the orange she-cat meows. "You've been assigned to Cloudyhaze and I. We're checking borders and looking out for that fox."

Nutfur nods. "Alright. I'll be outside in a moment." He waits for the female warrior to duck outside before administering a brotherly nuzzle to the other tomcat's cheek. "Get better," he says and starts to pull away from the nesting area. "Profusely thank Clearwater for patching you up and take your time recovering. I'll be back soon."

"I'm a warrior now, Nutfur," Brownpelt rumbles. "I don't need your shadow, remember?"

Nutfur's bob of a tail twitches in recognition of their past conversation.

He doesn't speak.

He walks outside.

"That was pretty quick," the orange she-cat announces in surprise, observing Nutfur's exit as she awaits his arrival with the white warrior beside her.

Nutfur shrugs, nonchalant. "I just needed to say a quick good-bye to my brother. About the patrol though, who's leading?"

"I am," Splashtail grins. As one of RiverClan's youngest female warriors - the other being Cloudyhaze - it's a wonder why Shallowfern is allowing the novices to lead. And begs the question why she would send Nutfur with them. It isn't as if Nutfur is a senior warrior. These two gigglers would be better guided by perhaps Lashtail or Ripplemask.

"Lead the way then," the pale brown tom motions for the orange cat to take the lead.

With the half-deaf white female beside her, Spashtail leads her patrol of three with a mostly silent Nutfur dragging his paws on the way out. They brush past the bushes and brambles, leaping over a freshly made puddle for the sheer humor. Reeds quickly approach their field of vision and the trio is swamped in a sea of foliage. Luckily, the rainfall from sunrises prior had offered some rehydration purposes and the reeds were no longer dead sticks standing. They part easily enough, granting access from the heart of RiverClan's territory toward the outlying borders.

* * *

"I know you've suddenly sprouted newfound emotions, but you've got to calm down on your conversations of 'dire importance'."

"But Sunpath, this _is_ of _dire importance,_ " Featherpaw argues, glaring up at his slightly taller brother. Which is saying something considering Sunpath is the shortest of his litter.

The pair has left campgrounds, Featherpaw claiming the medicine den is too stuffy and the clearing is too open. They converse beside one of the many streams in RiverClan's territory. To alleviate his boredom, Sunpath repeatedly dunks his forepaw into the water. He's only agreed to this conversation since Sunpath is the only one Featherpaw can turn to in his time of crisis.

Reedrush and Smoothfur could care less. Duskbelly would intelligently insult him. Redbriar would probably listen, but end up being a snot and leave after giving some very pointless advice. And while Shypaw would be willing, he doesn't have quite the grasp on revolt that Sunpath does.

Thus, Sunpath is Featherpaw's last resort.

"How so, little brother?" the golden tom sighs dramatically, more of his focus on the ripples than on his brother's potential problem.

"You won't understand unless I tell you from the beginning," Featherpaw murmurs.

"Then tell it from the beginning," Sunpath's hazel eyes roll as he starts to think this problem is just his activated imagination. Now that he's discovering emotions, he's beginning to go mad with possibilities and outcomes of thinking for himself.

"Several moons ago, I received an omen from StarClan. You remember Russetburr?"

Sunpath nods, his eyes closed.

"Well, she gave me the omen. In my dream, I saw an oak tree that had fallen from RiverClan's side of the gorge. It made a bridge between us and WindClan. There were two nuts - one on our side and the other clinging to the tree. I've realized they represented Nutfur and Brownpelt. The pure blood and the half-Clan. And Russetburr. . . she told me that half-Clan cats don't have a place in society. She told me the destiny of these two brothers were a fight to the death. The one who lived would shape the future."

Sunpath chokes. "Seriously, Feathers? Destiny of death? Please tell me you didn't try and convince them. . . Oh StarClan that's why Brownpelt ran off. . . that's why he had those wounds. . ."

Featherpaw ducks his head in shame. "If Nutfur succeeded, pure blooded Clan cats were only allowed in society. If Brownpelt succeeded, half-Clan cats could earn their place in society and would be valued and treasured. That's what I told them, at least."

"Oh, Featherpaw."

"I'm not finished. Nutfur refused to at first so I gave up after a few attempts and went after Brownpelt. He was easier to convince. I just told him the benefits of accepting his destiny and he agreed. I'm sure he would've have gone through with it had Nutfur not interfered. From what I understand, the pair got into an argument which resulted in their split. I followed Nutfur after his brother some time later. We found Brownpelt engaged in combat with a fox. Nutfur charged and drove it off, saving his brother. When I confronted him. . ." Featherpaw swallows. "When I confronted him about his choice, he explicitly explained their relationship and that Nutfur would always be there for Brownpelt. He would never intentionally hurt him. Because they were _family_." His voice cracks on the last word, eyelids clenched shut to restrain the bubbling emotions.

"Oh, Featherpaw."

Preventing any form of embrace, Featherpaw waves his sibling away and continues his story for the sake of getting everything off his chest. "His words stung. I felt an ache in my chest. Painful, numb, longing. I began to think there was more to life than killing and prophecy. And so, when I went to confide in StarClan and ask them about these feelings, Russetburr came to answer me. In short, she called them pointless. Medicine cats aren't allowed to express emotion. They'll end up getting too attached to their patient and potentially experience crumbling depression when they die. She said medicine cats are only to carry out the will of StarClan. I had a purpose some days ago, but now I don't know. Sunpath. . . I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're Featherpaw," Sunpath attempts to cheer him up, sending him a heartfelt smile. "Always have been, always will be. Well, until you get your full medicine cat name that is."

"Yeah," Featherpaw trails off, unconvinced. "My full name. . ."

* * *

Nutfur grumbles.

He's just spent the main part of the day stuck with two chatty she-cats. For a half-deaf cat, Cloudyhaze can certainly carry on conversation. Splashtail only encouraged her, speaking idly upon topics of insignificance.

 _Did you hear that Daisybird's almost due?_

 _I'm glad the rain is back._

 _Reedrush is pretty handsome, don't you think?_

 _ThunderClan shouldn't have an excuse to fight us for the river._

Once they pass into camp from the outside territory, Nutfur bolts from the obnoxious pair and beelines for the medicine den to check up on his brother. He doesn't know where they stand anymore.

Brownpelt obviously still resents him.

He obviously still believes that being a warrior means he doesn't need Nutfur to loom over him.

He doesn't know where they stand anymore.

Loping closer to the rock enclosed den, Nutfur expects a lapse of silence that usually envelops the interior. Clearwater and Featherpaw are quiet cats most of the time - they certainly don't speak just to hear themselves talk. Unless either is treating a patient or asking about herbs, the medicinal inhabitants prefer to keep to themselves. Which is why it is so surprising to hear a frazzled Clearwater speak in an echoed tone that reverberates inside.

Had he arrived earlier, Nutfur could've identified the topic of conversation easily. Yet, since his arrival was delayed due to Splashtail and Cloudyhaze, the pale brown tomcat only hears the final scream of;

"What do you mean you want to quit?!"

* * *

 _A/N: So now Sunpath knows of Featherpaw's experiences with StarClan. At least he told someone semi-responsible. Imagine if he told any of his other siblings. Yeesh.  
_

 _Nutfur seems to be returning to his own warrior duties after the whole fox incident. But poor Brownpelt's still in the medicine den. Fret not, he'll be out and about again soon. Give it a chapter or two. I seem to be favoring Featherpaw and his dilemma.  
_

 _Speaking of the tiny floof, it seems he has another crisis on his paws. One of which Clearwater clearly knows. Wonder how that'll play out, hmm?_

 _ **KyubiMaster9 :** Yeah, I'd agree. But how does one put a StarClan cat in their place? She's already dead XD. I will put a little burst in your bubble and say that Russetburr is a legit StarClan cat. As for Featherpaw, I understand your resentment. He was rather unlikeable at the beginning._

 _ **BooksRCoolYeah :** It's not so much StarClan as a whole as it is more of one particular cat who cares a little too much about her Clan. More will be explained as plot furthers._

 _ **Pondfrost :** Kind of a jerk yes. Not quite befitting a normal StarClan cat, don't you think? Wonder what that means. . . ;)_

 _Yeah, out of all his siblings, Featherpaw gets along with Sunpath the best. A close second would be Shypaw. I think it would be a tie between Redbriar and Duskbelly. And as time progresses, Featherpaw really doesn't connect with Smoothfur and Reedrush. Reedrush is a bit more tolerable but if it were put on a scale, Featherpaw and Smoothfur get along the least._

 _ **Starrysong likes Spring :** Accurate analysis._

 _QotC: I mostly have this story plotted out with a fairly detailed outline so I actually know where this whole adventure is going. But I might have some wriggle room in some spots and extra flexibility with my creative prowess. That said, are there any things in particular you'd like the chance to see? A PoV of another character? A certain scene? A certain spoken line? I like to hear your ideas. And if it's not too outside of the box for me and I have enough space to do such, I might just throw it in an upcoming chapter. ;)_

 _\- Snarky_


	14. Proposition

"Propostion"

* * *

Featherpaw has spent the rest of the afternoon in the sunlight contemplating his future. Sunpath's advice and comforting ear helps ease the swirl of emotions buried in his chest. His head is starting to hurt with the amount of intense thinking - something he hasn't done in the past several moons. It was always 'do this for me' and 'do that for me', never did he require to think for himself.

It was terrifying.

The two brothers kept themselves dry on the shore of the rippling water, laying down in comfortable silence after Featherpaw's outburst had ended.

"What are you going to do now?"

That was Sunpath's proposal before the void, causing the younger to answer truthfully.

"I don't know."

He let his comment hang in the breeze before falling a silent as a ghost, lost in the wind.

The medicine cat apprentice returns with soft steps, one of his natural traits that always seemed to stick. Sunpath was always jealous when Featherpaw got away with slinking around in near total silence and how the bristly golden tom was heavy-stepped nearly everywhere he went.

He creeps into the medicine den, almost grateful to find Nutfur absent. He doesn't know what it is about that cat, but lately he's been setting the medicine cat on edge. Perhaps it's that muscled warrior's form that screams dominance and power, his thin pelt bristled akin to pine needles. Deadly and sharp to the touch. Maybe it's the barely contained rage in his glowing green eyes or the everlasting burn of a brother who'd lay down his life for his younger. The fact that in his own choice, the temperamental warrior still manages to throw himself into a frenzied fray that could end his legacy.

Whatever it is, it scares Featherpaw.

Blinking his round blue eyes, he spots the slumbering lump of ruddy and ragged fur nestled in one of the den's many patient moss beds. Beyond him is Clearwater's tail, poking into sight from the rear of the den where she is no doubt going over her stocks again for perhaps the thousandth time this moon.

As he approaches his mentor, Featherpaw slows his steps to consider his next choices.

 _Is this really the best way to go?_

 _Is this really what I need to do to prove myself?_

 _Is this really necessary?_

He leaves himself with no chance to answer before accidentally placing his paw on Clearwater's tail. He scrambles back at her yelp of surprise, jerked away from his mindless meandering and sucked back into the confines of reality.

"StarClan forbid, that hurt!" the medicine cat curses, biting back a hiss of dissatisfaction. She whirls around with a stern glare, ready to chew out who had the audacity to step on her twiggy tail. When she meets the intruder's eyes, her's immediately soften with recognition. "Oh, it's you Featherpaw. Did you have a purpose for stepping on my tail? If you wanted my attention, you could have simply asked for my name. I'm not deaf, you know."

Featherpaw nods. "Yes and I'm sorry Clearwater. I was lost in my headspace, that's all. I wasn't looking where my paws were going."

Clearwater _mrrows._ "That's a first. Careful, cautious Featherpaw not looking where he puts his paws."

"Yes, well, I was thinking," Featherpaw weakly counters, tail swishing briefly from side to side in an anxious manner.

Clearwater notices his obvious distress and her features crease into a frown. "Featherpaw," she meows firmly. "What's wrong? You look more somber than usual. Has something happened to you? Have you been experiencing dreams? Do you think you need to talk to StarClan?"

"No!" Featherpaw blurts, harsher than he intends. Clearwater visibly recoils under the brash tone that is usually not seen from the quiet-tonged medicine cat apprentice. "No, thank you," he adds in a softer timbre. "Speaking with StarClan is not necessary as I've not had any dreams. I do, however, require a conversation with you."

"We're conversing right now," Clearwater points out. "Speak away. What's on your mind?"

"I don't think I can be a medicine cat any longer."

The blue-gray tabby freezes. She is unable to speak for several seconds and forces herself to choke out a perplexed, "What?"

"I can't be your apprentice anymore. I'd like to quit."

There is another wash of silence as Clearwater gathers her thoughts. Consumed by emotions, she suddenly screeches, "What do you mean you want to quit!?"

"It's exactly as I said," Featherpaw tilts his head, concerned by Clearwater's bout of emotion. "Weren't you listening?"

"Of course I was listening!" Clearwater grumbles with a lash of her tail. "What I don't understand is why? Why would you want to quit? You've spent your time tirelessly here. You've counted the herbs, you've kept the stocks tidy and plenty filled, you've healed wounds, you've saved lives. Why throw all these moons of training away? Why waste my time if you never wanted this position in the first place?"

"Well, originally, I didn't," Featherpaw bows his head in some expression of shame.

Clearwater frowns.

The apprentice continues to explain. "I think I did it mostly out of spite. All of my siblings are warrior material. I think I wanted to be noticed more. If I did something against them, I would surely be noticed. Russetburr inspired me when she was alive. I wanted to be a legend like her. That's when I decided to rebel and train to be a medicine cat. Of course, what's a rebel without his share of oppressor scars?" He chuckles bitterly.

"Your scar," Clearwater gasps in realization. She's seen Sunpath's on occasion and from him she learned of Featherpaw's.

"Mmhmm," the tomcat nods slowly. "Now training under you, I learned to adapt. I wasn't sure I'd like being a medicine cat, but the idea of saving lives and being a messenger of the stars seemed appealing so I stuck with it. I gained some enjoyment from it - don't think I didn't find learning from you useful. But in the end it was all for spite and I think. . . I think I've lost my connection to StarClan." At this, his head droops even lower. Almost disappointed in himself. "I can't talk with them anymore. I. . . I refuse to. I'm ashamed, but I don't think I believe in them anymore. I can't very well be a medicine cat if I can't speak to our ancestors, can I?" Featherpaw steals a glance up and gives his soon-to-be former mentor a watery smile.

The tabby returns the sad smile. Now that she's seen the young cat express a real smile, she only wishes it was a happy one.

"I understand," she says somberly, forcing to stay positive. "Would you like me to speak with Pikestar with you?"

Featherpaw nods a few times in agreement. "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Clearwater."

* * *

Nutfur knows the consequences of eavesdropping. More than once Ripplemask had caught him with his ears pressed up against the walls of a younger Pikestar's den, desperate to listen to the news that the deputy brought in on many occasions. Even into apprenticeship, Brownpelt - Brown _kit_ then - had stumbled onto his brother's mischief and demanded to be a part of the secret band seeking information that leaked from the crevices in the leader's den.

A few clouts to the muzzle and ear wasn't enough to learn evidently.

Nutfur is unable to walk away with a clear conscience once he hears Clearwater's outburst. In his head, he knows it's wrong to listen in on an obviously private conversation between the medicine cat and. . .

"It's exactly as I said. Weren't you listening?"

Featherpaw?

Against his better judgement, Nutfur cranes his neck further, careful to keep his head out of sight from the den's interior.

"Of course I was listening!" Nutfur identifies Clearwater's voice again. "What I don't understand is why? Why would you want to quit? You've spent your time tirelessly here. You've counted the herbs, you've kept the stocks tidy and plenty filled, you've healed wounds, you've saved lives. Why throw all these moons of training away? Why waste my time if you never wanted this position in the first place?"

"Well, originally, I didn't."

The warrior stifles a gasp of surprise and opts to widen his eyes as the truth spills from Featherpaw's mumbling maw. All of those moons, the wounds, the lives. . . Did they really mean anything? While not a medicine cat himself, Nutfur can still appreciate the concept of life. If a medicine cat loses a patient on their watch to the grasp of death, it's a hard bridge to burn. There have been stories told by the elders about medicine cats who went mad with insanity all due to the loss of one of their patients. Medicine cats were supposed to heal, weren't they?

Did that mean Featherpaw didn't care about saving lives?

He happens to be thinking to himself for a long lapse of time and misses the next set of the conversation before he hears the final sigh of release coming from the black tomcat.

"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Clearwater."

What would be wonderful? What did Clearwater say? What did _Featherpaw_ say?

As the conversation comes to a close, Nutfur figures it best to walk in now. He meant to from the start but deemed it inappropriate to step in on such an important debacle. He clears his throat to announce his presence and two sets of eyes are suddenly upon him.

"Oh, Nutfur, you're back," Clearwater smiles, though there's an odd hollowness to her eyes that Nutfur brushes away within seconds.

"Yeah," the pale warrior says. "Shallowfern ordered me on patrol it seemed and I had to go with Splashtail and Cloudyhaze. I swung by to check on Brownpelt again."

The medicine cat gestures with her tail over to the lump in the nest. "As you can see, he's still asleep. His wounds need some more healing so I'd advise against waking him up. I could tell him that you stopped by if you want me to though?" Her gaze flits back to the pale warrior and waits for his answer.

"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Clearwater."

Nutfur turns and pads out of the den before he sees Featherpaw stiffen. Likewise, a shiver runs down Clearwater's spine akin to the chill of the night in the middle of leaf-bare.

* * *

"He heard," Featherpaw meows, his voice on the cusp of a growl. His privacy had been infiltrated. Intentional or accidental didn't matter at this point. His chance to speak in private had been shattered. However, there was a chance he didn't hear the entire conversation. The real question was, how much did Nutfur hear?

"Apologies," Clearwater responds kindly, though somewhat defeated and certainly disgruntled. "There isn't a clear view from inside to any eavesdroppers lurking outside. Most cats know what isn't their business and acts accordingly. Perhaps I'll have a talk with him."

Featherpaw shakes his head. "I don't think that's necessary. Just a talk with Pikestar."

"Of course," the medicine cat smiles genuinely. "When would you like to speak with him?"

"As soon as possible," the black tomcat admits, looking slightly sheepish. "If that isn't too much trouble."

"Not to my knowledge. I only thought you'd like to dwell on your thoughts and see if you'd change your mind. Maybe spend a few days and contemplate?"

"I think I've done enough thinking for one day. I've made my decision." Featherpaw is slumped, his choice weighing heavy on his shoulders. Despite his fatigue, even his emotionless blues reflect a flicker of finality. He's affirmed his choice. He's proud of it. There isn't any going back now.

In silence, the pair rise to their paws and start walking out of the den where the sunlight is fading and replaced with an evening glow settling just behind the mountains in the far distance. Warriors in the clearing are humorously sharing tongues, Featherpaw catching bits of laughter. With the rain starting to come back and replenish the rivers, tensions seem to be put at ease.

He vaguely thinks of Birdstar and her attempts to create another treaty with RiverClan. If successful, their compromise would have thrown RiverClan off balance. Their hunting rights to the river in green-leaf would be diminished and even for someone as old as Pikestar realized that he couldn't do that do his Clan.

Speaking of Pikestar -

"Featherpaw, his den is right here. . .?" Clearwater sounds amused as she watches her soon to be former apprentice waddle off further now that he's been immersed in his drifting thoughts.

"Lost in my head," Featherpaw sniffs a bit in his defense.

"I don't think I blame you," the tabby answers, her voice a tad somber. "Come along." And with a swish of her tail, the medicine cat slips into the musty rock den, the draping lichen dragging across her back with an odd sense of familiarity. As the black cat follows on her heels, he notes the arid scent of sickness and briefly ponders the health of their leader.

"Pikestar?" Clearwater clears her throat, announcing their presence to the aging brown tabby tom. "Featherpaw and I would like a word with you if you're not too busy."

Her answer is an immediate, raspy cough. It's dry and painful sounding. Much akin to the ear pain of claws scraping down across a flat stone. The screech is far from pleasant.

"Surely I can find time for the medicine cats." Through the shade of the den, with little cracks of light slipping just inside, there's enough illumination given for Featherpaw to see the great tabby crinkle his muzzle into a grin of sorts. However, it's obviously strained and the black tom is reminded of how sick and old Pikestar truly is. He'd already been in his late prime when Featherpaw was born, meaning he was even more out of his prime as the seasons passed. "Is this about StarClan?" Pikestar prompts, sitting awkwardly to the side in his bed of moss. He seems to be favoring the left side. "Is there something that needs to be shared with me?"

"Something does need to be shared," Clearwater nods her head. "But I'm afraid it's not all about StarClan. Featherpaw?" Her head tilts toward her side where the smaller cat sits patiently in the shadows, caught not in the dapples of light.

While prompted, the blue-eyed 'paw makes no inclination to move any closer. Instead, he remains perfectly seated in a quiet stature right beside the blue-gray female. He blinks slowly and releases the breath he'd been holding for near a minute. "I'd like to resign from being a medicine cat apprentice."

Pikestar's right ear twitches but he says nothing, inaudibly encouraging the tomcat to press onward.

"I did it out of spite, you see. Supposedly it occupied my time long enough, but it seems I've lost. . . the spark, if you will. No longer will I connect with StarClan - our last meeting wasn't the nurturing one - and I've come to terms that a medicine cat cannot be a medicine cat if they cannot commune with the ancestors."

This time, Pikestar answers. His voice is gravelly but kind. "I'm no medicine cat, but I don't believe that your definition of medicine cat is correct."

"Pikestar, sir?"

"Is it not the duty for a medicine cat to save lives? To heal and nourish our warriors to health?"

"It is," Featherpaw lowers his head, unsure.

"Then StarClan has nothing to do with how well you perform. You heal cats Featherpaw. You're valued."

A rumble sets itself in the apprentice's throat. "That does not change anything. StarClan may not have anything to do with it but I've lost the spark. I can't heal anymore. Not officially, at the least. It was valued learning and I thank Clearwater profusely for training me though it was for naught. With your permission, sir, I'd like to train as a warrior apprentice."

* * *

 _A/N: So Nutfur's an eavesdropper and Featherpaw no longer wants to be a medicine cat. Way to drop the bomb there bud. I mean, that might have been obvious in the last chapter with Clearwater's exclamation. Who else would have an opportunity to quit? But now that you know who wants to quit, it's all a matter if his request will be granted or not.  
_

 ** _BrightMind :_** _[chapter twelve] Featherpaw's side changing story was going to go a bit slower but I feel like in his flurry of newfound emotions he'd jump to his own conclusions - his ideas about independent thinking - and end up saying some reckless things. Hence his, essentially, overly confident mic-drop, so to speak. He was running in the moment and felt the only way to get his thoughts across to a StarClan cat that wasn't listening, was to turn against them completely._

 _[chapter thirteen] Newfound 'emotions' indeed XD. He's struggling. Poor baby. I can definitely give you more of his POV. There will definitely be more of him, fret not. But you are indeed correct. It is Featherpaw who wants to quit and he gave some of his reasoning. More will actually be explained in the next installment :3_

 _QotC: Speaking of emotions, how are you guys? Mentally, physically. . . How are my readers feeling? I'm only curious because I happen to be quite frazzled at the moment. The thought of AP exams are starting to bear down on my thoughts and I needed story time to escape reality._

 _\- Snarky_


	15. Information

"Information"

* * *

"It's not the end of the world, Featherpaw. Pikestar just sees reason for what it is."

"Pikestar may be wise and old but his decisions might as well be toad dung!"

"Featherpaw! Where have you picked up such foul language?"

Furious arguing takes place just outside the medicine den, catching the attention of a wildly awake Brownpelt sitting in idle boredom while his brother is no doubt pandering around in search of another she-cat to potentially woo or sleeping off his inner turmoil. Whatever the choice may be, the young warrior could care less about his elder brother's ambitions at the current time and instead opts to perk up with intrigue due to the harsh squabbling.

Foul mouthing was not common of Featherpaw. He kept his language clean, clipped, and civilized.

Brownpelt could barely remember the last time the tiny tom was this riled up; it was that gathering night during his, Featherpaw's and Nutfur's confrontation. That night, the medicine cat was over emotional and let a flicker of true rage slip out.

This was quickly becoming one of those situations only turned up to another level.

"Ask my siblings!" Featherpaw's voice seethes with fury akin to burning flames. Seconds later, he stomps in a huff into the den where Brownpelt can clearly see the storm brewing in his blue eyes, flickering and crackling like lightning strikes.

He is surprised when Clearwater doesn't trail in after - it was obvious she was the cat Featherpaw was sharing an altercation with. Another ripple of confusion mixes in with his hazel pools upon seeing the feather-soft tomcat essentially crash and burn before he reaches the back of the den. The apprentice merely lays on the ground in a lifeless heap and appears to have no inclination to move. He's belly to the dirt on the floor, his limbs sprawled out around him in a somewhat uncomfortable fashion and elicits the second most pathetic sigh of disdain Brownpelt's ever heard.

The first being Nutfur's. It seems no cat could compare in patheticness to the cries of his brother when the eldest decided to pout unnecessarily.

"That can't be very comfortable," Brownpelt clears his throat awkwardly.

Featherpaw's ear twitches.

He's heard his declaration but says nothing in response aside from a prideful chuff.

"If you're going to sleep, wouldn't it be nicer to do so in your nest?" the warrior tries again.

"If it's so nice to sleep in your own nest, why are you still here? Don't you have a bed of moss in the _warriors den?_ " the apprentice's voice positively _drips_ with venom.

"You're being melodramatic, for one," Brownpelt notes, wrinkling his nose at the sour attitude. "Two, I don't know if I'm ready to face my brother again in the den. And three, this bed is actually more comfortable than the warriors den. Speaking of your melodrama, who tied your tail in a knot today?"

"Pikestar," Featherpaw meows passively, physically rolling to his side closer to the wall as opposed to just laying in the middle of the den. He tucks his paws up underneath him in a more controlled position, tail coiled a bit in suppressed aggravation. The storm in his eyes have calmed to gray sky - not quite calm, but no longer shaking with raw energy. It was a balance Brownpelt found himself able to deal with.

"Care to elaborate?" Brownpelt prompts, curious as to what could have possibly set off the usually calm faced medicine cat apprentice.

A sigh. "In short, I told Pikestar I no longer possess the interest in becoming a medicine cat. I can't be Clearwater's apprentice anymore."

The warrior balks. "What brought this decision on?" The real question was why he was so interested in the life of the other tomcat. This was the same cat who nearly destroyed Brownpelt's relationship with Nutfur. Why was he even bothering asking questions that clearly weren't his business?

Featherpaw answers anyway. His tail twitches, vaguely interested but mostly spiritless with his motions. "Plenty of things," is his bland response, refusing to meet his blue eyes to hazel eyes. "My parents drained my body from emotions when I was a kit. I was clearly expected to follow rules without backtalk or rebuke. I was supposed to be the 'good little warrior'. And I was - mostly. Sunpath was the real troublemaker, in all honesty. I'm surprised he only got off with the mark once. Smoothfur's been pinned countless times. More marks than he cares to remember. Point being, in my family, you were punished for acts against them. Rebellious natures were not tolerated. Anything that went against their teachings were seen as threats that needed to be taken care of there and then rather than sometime later."

Featherpaw slows his monologue and glances suspiciously over at the warrior perched motionless in the nest. "You and Nutfur don't want anything to do with me now, why the sudden interest in my history?"

It's Brownpelt's turn to be self-conscious and he ducks his head to lap at his chest fur in a flush of embarrassment. "Nutfur doesn't think much of you now. I think we just got off on the wrong paw all those moons ago. Lying and deceit aren't good ways to base a friendship on. I was sort of hoping we could restart. You tell me your life, and I'll tell you about mine?"

"I suppose so," the apprentice murmurs slowly, carefully working his thoughts in typical Featherpaw analysis manner.

"So why did you choose to be a medicine cat in the first place?"

"Spite," he answers bluntly, then tacks on, "My parents raised warriors, not whiny brats working alone in a plant infested hollow. I have five brothers and one sister - there wasn't a real way I could compete with them. I was certainly mother's favorite at the time of my birth, but I discovered soon after Sunpath's marking that I didn't really want their approval. Choosing to be a medicine cat was about as effective as a bite to the throat: it hurt, it stung, and pain followed you wherever you went. Clearly, they were upset at the notion of 'being bitten at the throat' essentially, and I was marked - scar under my leg - to see if that would help me change my mind. It didn't, suffice to say."

Brownpelt's glad to see the 'paw looking a bit more amused. There isn't a smile, but the hollowness in his eyes have illuminated with another emotion of contentment.

"Russetburr was an idol of mine in my younger days. She worked around the nursery, treasuring kits and queens with her herbs and love. She also told me aside that she had conversations with StarClan. As a kit, that excited me tremendously. At that point, I might have wanted to follow in her pawsteps and carry out little talks with our ancestors. Messenger of the stars, hmm. However, she died very early in her task and I became Clearwater's apprentice by the time I reached six moons. It hadn't been my original choice, but as long as it ruffled the fur of my family the wrong way, I was content."

Curiosity piqued, Brownpelt decides to ask the bigger question.

"So why quit?"

For a few moments, Featherpaw doesn't speak and Brownpelt can only assume he's trying to come up with the best explanation. Finally, his jaw opens minutely.

"I disagree morally with StarClan. I've listened to some bad thoughts that come from the starry skies. I can no longer speak with them willingly. I refuse to speak with StarClan and as such, I can't be a medicine cat."

"Aren't there stories about cats who don't believe in StarClan and still function in the Clans? I remember this one cat -"

"Fruitless," the black tom interrupts. "When I dream, I end up there. When the half-moon arrives, I go with Clearwater to meet with the other medicine cats. Who, coincidentally, share dreams with StarClan. Isn't that peachy? I. Won't. Speak. To. StarClan. Clearly, different standpoints have been made and I'm no longer willing to compromise. I've been toyed with and betrayed."

"But -"

"Remember the omen?" Featherpaw's voice raises considerably in his rush of outrage. "StarClan gave it to me! _Russetburr_ gave it to me! She lied to me about the _scourge of the Clans_."

"Well," Brownpelt begins in hesitance. "If it's only Russetburr then you can still talk -"

"Not risking it. I really don't want to waste my time trying to figure out who agreed to tell me that stupid omen and who didn't. The easy solution is to ignore them all and never have any more contact. End of story."

"I see," the thick furred brown cat responds quietly, not quite understanding at all.

"Enough about that though, I recall you suggesting you would speak of your life? Do tell, I n- I never - my family wasn't really a family when I was growing up. What was it like to have a brother you would do anything for?" Featherpaw moves closer, no longer pressed up against the opposite wall of the den. His eyes are bright with interest to the point where it's almost sad. The poor kit didn't have much of a kithood and from what Brownpelt could remember, none of Featherpaw's siblings shared the bond that himself and Nutfur had. Have. He doesn't know anymore.

"In all honesty, I got the rotten fish of the bunch," Brownpelt shrugs, trying to dig deep in the depths of his mind for those memories he so often tried to forget. "Nutfur was born normal from what I know. He had a normal RiverClan mother and a RiverClan father. Nutfur says Mother loved him very much and when he died, she was very depressed. Depressed enough to seek comfort at the edge of the gorge every day. It wasn't much longer until I was born and quickly identified as half-Clan. From what I understand, Oakfrost still loved me until the day she caught greencough, fell asleep and never woke up. Never met my WindClan father - I don't even know if he's still alive. Or if he, StarClan forbid, even knows I exist."

He's sure Featherpaw must feel something. Brownpelt never met his birth father whereas Featherpaw did.

"After Mother died, Ripplemask - Tansyspot's mother - sort of adopted us and raised me and my brother. And she was a good mother, but when Tansykit was born, her responsibilities fell on her own daughter. Nutkit was almost ready to be an apprentice and he was able to look after me. I remember our first snowfall together. . ."

 _"Watch your step, Brownkit."_

 _The soft chastise echoed off from the right, resonating clearly in the kit's large and inquisitive ears._

 _"The ice is slick."_

 _The bigger tomcat, a pale brown in comparison to the smaller's ruddy hue, kept his gaze amused upon watching his younger brother experience RiverClan's leaf-bare for the first time._

 _Tiny flurries fell from the sky, drifting languidly in the frosty air. All around, their stark whiteness dappled the pelts of the felines still outside in the cold weather. Some of the younger 'paws had taken a liking to catching the particles on their pink tongues, making it a game for their own amusement. Some of the warriors grumbled, ill-tempered about the change in lifestyle. From across the clearing, their medicine cat was fretting, mumbling hurriedly about her stocks and lack of herbs. Her apprentice wasn't wavered in the change, parading around with the other youngsters in their activity._

 _"I know, Nutpaw!" the younger kit huffed in defiance, determined to approach the situation without outside assistance. Many puddles had littered the earth, all frozen over as a result of the seasonal shift._

 _Nutpaw chuckled in kind, the warmth in his chest rivaling the chill of the outside aura._

 _"Snow's pretty," the little kit squeaked out, marveling at the falling particles._

 _"Isn't it?" his older brother agreed, blinking up at the sky in sibling contentment._

 _"Oomph!"_

 _Nutpaw suddenly jerked his gaze back out of the clouds and into the present where he observed tiny Brownkit flat on his belly as a result from slipping on the ice puddles._

 _Despite himself, the pale 'paw giggled._

 _"Watch your step, Brownkit."_

"That was a happy time surprisingly. He played Mom to me ever since Ripplemask had her own kit. He even made sure I looked presentable for my apprentice ceremony."

 _"Don't wriggle away, come back here and sit still!"_

 _"Nutpaw, you're messing up my pelt!"_

 _Nutpaw leaned forward again, resuming his task of running his tongue over Brownkit's fluffy face. "Only because you've got a tufted mop on the top of your head that refuses to be tamed."_

 _"Let it be wild and free!" Brownkit argued, pulling back sharply and thrashing his head around, letting his curl of fur flash in the breeze._

 _Nutpaw scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Just know that Mom would've wanted you to look nice for your ceremony."_

At the mention of their deceased mother, Brownkit settled down into a quiet haze. A ripple ran through his fuzzy coat, the chill of memories seeping under his skin. He lowered his head in submission. "Make her happy," he said simply, allowing Nutpaw to play the role of mother and smooth out the kitten's fur.

"I didn't know her for very long, but I heard that she was a wonderful warrior. My brother played that option nearly time he wanted me to do something. 'Mother wouldn't like that', he'd say or 'Mother would think this', or 'Mother would want you to'. Because I didn't want to let her down, I always complied. That was just how things went when we were much younger."

"Hmm," Featherpaw sums up the story with a simple hum, as if calculating what to say next in response. "Tell me more about Nutfur. Please."

Initially confused, Brownpelt frowns, but complies regardless. "There isn't much more. He practically raised me as would an actual mother -"

"Not like that," Featherpaw interjects. "Personally. I want to know him personally."

"As in. . .?"

"Likes, dislikes. . . how to get back on friendly terms?"

"For starters, he doesn't like it when cats manipulate him and lie to him," Brownpelt snarks, baring his teeth subconsciously with a bit of hostility. He reins in his emotions when he sees Featherpaw guiltily shrink back.

"Ah, yes, I suppose I was in the wrong there."

"His favorite fish is carp," Brownpelt finally mews, noticing the way Featherpaw's head in drooped in submissive apology. A little smile comes to his face when the black tomcat flicks his ears to show he's listening. The brown tabby decides to add more. "He likes the aftermath of rainstorms - something about the sight of a blue, blue sky makes him smile. He collects bird feathers on occasion. Brings them to the elders den to liven up their nests. Had a fondness for Icethroat before he died. Loyalty is everything to my brother. If he's willing to lay down his life for someone, he expects that someone to, at the very least, appreciate what he's done for them. He doesn't take well to heartbreak, spends his nights alone most days. But when I get night terrors, he'll always let me share his nest. He has his ups and downs, I'll admit. But he's still my brother and I value him more than my own life. Because we're family."

That word meant something to Featherpaw apparently because the smaller cat certainly flinches when Brownpelt utters that last word. He's about to press on about it, but is beaten to the next part of conversation.

"I see. Thank you, Brownpelt, for sharing this information with me." Featherpaw looks genuinely thankful. His eyes are much brighter, and while he's not smiling, there's that familiar twinkle alight in those blue blue pools of emotion.

"You're welcome," Brownpelt nods his head. "But there's one other thing you might find useful."

"What would that be?"

"For reasons unknown to me, Nutfur looked up to you. You broke his heart the day you manipulated not only me, but himself. If you want to be on good terms with him again, I'd suggest a proper apology to his face."

* * *

 _A/N: And here would be another mending chapter. This time, the mending of the bond between Brownpelt and Featherpaw. At least they understand each other now. But Featherpaw still has to apologize to Nutfur or they'll get nowhere.  
_

 _In other news, Featherpaw has been denied his opportunity to become a warrior per Pikestar's orders._

 _Also, Brownpelt's memories unfold. Some certain people will know where I got these past bits of conversation._

 _ **Starrysong Likes Spring** : That's good! I'm glad you're alright! _

_**BrightMind** : Nutfur was actually given away by his choice in words. The last words Nutfur hears from inside the den is _ "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Clearwater." _before butting inside the den. He doesn't realize that he was more invested in the conversation than he'd care to admit and Nutfur accidentally says_ _"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Clearwater." _Word for word, phrase for phrase, making Clearwater and Featherpaw realize that Nutfur had heard at least the last bit of their conversation.__

 _ _Oh but he is denied XD Poor Feathers is still a medicine cat apprentice. But out of curiosity, who would you peg for his mentor if he became a warrior apprentice?__

 _ **Pondfrost** : Same bud. I'm glad that school is almost over so I can fully relax. _

_Haha, Feather's not quite out yet. Pikestar says he's still a medicine cat. Frustrating, no?_

 _Fun update! I'm almost done with school until after summer so look forward to more updates in quicker succession. My AP exams that I was stressing about are finally done and I feel pretty good about them. Just another week and a half of attending classes. I can do this..._

 _QotC: Now that Featherpaw's been denied, what do you think is going to happen next? Clearly he wants nothing to do with medicine anymore and Pikestar has explained that he should still be a medicine cat. So... how's my poor fluffball going to cope?_

 _\- Snarky_


	16. Acceleration

"Acceleration"

* * *

As morning rises, the light of dawn spilling over the bumps and dips of the stream infested land, murmurs of conspiracy float through the shadowed silhouettes that lurk in the reed beds. The sweet scent of the waterside flora does not conceal the confessions of wickedness or the presumed tragedy that has taken place.

"What do you mean 'dropped dead'?" the sister of silver tabby and sage eyes whispers harshly, dipping her paws haphazardly in the nearest puddle to familiarize herself with the foreign terrain.

"It means exactly what I said it means," bites back the identical tabby of silver fur and sage eyes, his masculine frame the only differential quality between the two. "Smoothfur's information is rarely so reckless. If he speaks death, then death has happened."

"But," the female protests, maw slack. "Whose death has claimed RiverClan in such a manner that costs silence across the land? Not one patrol has visited the stream yet. It's well into dawn and surely they are not so incompetent to not check their borders."

The tabby tom hums. "He did not say. One must assume a cat of certain importance. A memorable legacy if RiverClan is to mourn in complete silence."

"Pikestar?" the other questions, ears perked in wonderment. "All Clans mourn long for their leader."

"Possibility. Although you must remember who is his deputy."

"Shallowfern."

"Exactly. The mother of Smoothfur. As well as his other six siblings."

"Then it is time for their bloodline to rule. No doubt rules will change and RiverClan's future leaders will be nothing short of that pure blood legacy."

"Precisely. My dear Flowerhaze, it's simply a leadership quality. It maintains order in the best way. Come along, now. While there may not be any patrols coming through here for some time, they'll no doubt notice the overwhelming scent of our masking. It's important ThunderClan stays on good terms with RiverClan. Even when mourning."

"You are correct, Silverhawk."

* * *

"It is of great importance that we recognize our fallen leader," Shallowfern bows her head, respectful of the events that have taken place as the rest of RiverClan encircles the clearing, all vacantly ghosting over the lifeless body of their recently deceased ticked tabby leader. "Pikestar and I were momentarily discussing the prospects of a possible scuffle with ThunderClan. Everyone here I'm sure is aware of ThunderClan's thirst for the river between us and them. During our conversation, Pikestar had grown very passionate about his decision to not let ThunderClan have hunting rights to the water and he suddenly clenched up. He choked on his own words and dropped dead at my paws. Pikestar was an ancient leader no doubt, and as it was his final life, we all knew it wasn't going to be long. I had brazenly thought we'd lose our leader in a valiant blaze of glory against ThunderClan or WindClan - not against some pathetic coughing fit that caused him to keel over like a stranded guppy. Nonetheless, Pikestar picked me as his deputy after Swiftfin passed and he knew that one day I would succeed his legacy. And as his chosen, with a heavy heart, I will accept what has been passed on to me and wear the title of leader with pride. With great decision, I have decided to leave for the Moonstone later rather than now, and continue to mourn my leader until nightfall. Patrols will used as sparingly as possible for today. Normal regiment will begin at the next rising of the dawn. Dismissed."

The great gray feline steps off from the perch of the wooden stump, bypassing the reeds with supreme elegance, approaching her fallen predecessor with slow, languid steps. Like most of her clanmates, she noses his fur - specifically that patch of unkempt flank fur near his shoulder. Unlike many leaders, RiverClan's recently deceased had made the decision in his early life to never take a mate or have kits. As such, after his parents and his brother died, the last of his bloodline died with the ancient brown tabby who took on the noble name of Pikestar.

For someone who knows of the typically stoic nature of the gray and white deputy, most will tell you that her expressions are well guarded. Her emotions were lowly considered, expressed only clearly in the period of motherhood where she doted lovingly after her offspring that brought a nurturing twinge to her stiff beating heart. Bringing a bloodline to power was an always present part of her life. Her goals were not a secret - especially not to her kits who were to supposedly succeed her.

And yet, everyone who thought they knew her, weren't aware that even the most emotionally stable are capable of falling apart just as much as the emotionally unstable.

Shallowfern buries her muzzle into the fur of the cat who smoothed out her rough edges. Once an uppity jumpstart who barely had knowledge on how to lead a Clan, only knowing that she desired to, now a well rounded female who respected boundaries and respected her clanmates well enough to put them before herself. Pikestar knew of her ambition and he found it rather admirable. Swiftfin, when he was alive, was independent yet very indecisive. His decisions were frazzled and soon it was obvious he couldn't take the responsibilities of being a true leader. Before he could resign, however, Shallowfern remembered the brief pandemic of greencough spread throughout RiverClan and how it had claimed the lives of several before enough catmint was collected to cure those infected.

"RiverClan has lost a noble cat today," she murmurs into the grizzled fur. Other cats around her were keeping their distance while the she-cat grieved. They would have their turn soon.

She lays there until nightfall, as promised. Or at least, until the medicine cat calls the deputy to attention about the time it takes to travel and make it to their destination by nightfall. Her thoughts and last moments with her leader are undisturbed until Clearwater approaches with tentative pawsteps.

"Shallowfern, I know you said you wanted to leave at nightfall," the tabby pauses and glances around in the full light, acknowledging that the skies have not yet darkened enough to even be considered early evening. "But with the time it takes to reach the Moonstone, I'd advise you to take your traveling herbs now and come with me. If we leave at nightfall as you so propose, we make it there by morning and miss the chance to talk with the ancestors."

Shallowfern huffs slightly at the notion but reluctantly pulls her muzzle from the dry crinkled fur of the former leader. She can still recall the spark in his eyes before it flickered out for one final time. "Very well," the gray and white she-cat faces the tabby, face heavy with grief.

Clearwater smile is sorrowed as she leads the deputy back to the storeroom of her den to retrieve the bundles she spent the morning making in preparation of the journey.

The bundle is bitter tasting but Shallowfern knows better than to refuse or argue with a medicine cat. Ruefully, she swallows the leaves with an audible gulp and nods in confirmation to the other female.

Clearwater returns the nod in sentiment and leads the way out of the den with soft steps, off-handedly whispering to her apprentice on the way out, telling him to keep an eye on the den and the rest of the Clan in addition to keeping friendly conversation with one of RiverClan's youngest warriors. Shallowfern swoops in at the she-cat's side, keeping an easy, leisurely pace as they cross the clearing.

Still in mourning, the Clan is silent even as Shallowfern and Clearwater pass by. Their acknowledgements are, at best, a few nods, whilst some ignore them completely and are eternally absorbed in the death of their leader, refusing, like Shallowfern, to leave his side until ordered.

Pikestar had been a great leader. While he had no kits to bear, his parents and sibling dead, he was still a very influential cat throughout his life and managed to make many a cat his loyal friend. His legacy would die here, but Shallowfern would be there to pick up the pieces and rebuild the name of RiverClan.

"Safe travels, mother," Redbriar speaks flatly, yet sympathetic, from her perch on a nest of reeds and moss just inside the camp entrance. Beside her sits Duskbelly, less emotional and less prone to actual speech. He bobs his head, a wordless plea mirroring his younger sister's.

"Stay strong kits," Shallowfern answers politically and stoically, her tone slightly clipped. She's not to show emotion here. Especially in the face of her own kits who have been trained by Frogjaw and herself to be powerful, ruthless warriors. They would accuse her of going soft. "I'll be back at sunrise. Listen to Frogjaw - he's in charge for now."

"Like deputy?" Redbriar questions, tilting her head though looking displeased at the thought.

To her relief, Shallowfern shakes her head and resumes her stroll alongside Clearwater as they disappear into the reeds.

* * *

"Shallowfern?" Clearwater mews tentatively as the gray and white female lifts her head, gently pulling away from the glimmering stone. Their time here had been lengthy, giving each party plenty of time for sleep and to console with the ancestors. To Clearwater's amusement, Shallowfern shakes her head.

"Shallowstar," she corrects, bearing a colder visage. She does not grin back.

"You've properly received your lives then," the tabby summarizes the dream in simple words, not knowing exactly whom she former deputy had spoken to during the ceremony. No doubt Pikestar, but Clearwater was left in the dark about the other eight felines.

"You are correct," the newly named leader of RiverClan nods in recognition. She rises with an air of elegance, standing taller than the medicine cat even after the tabby rises beside her. "Come," she orders. "We must return to the Clan and bring them the good news."

Clearwater bobs her head, agreeing. "Yes, it would be wise to leave before we overstay our welcome."

With that, the two females lope along the still dark tunnel with careful pawsteps, wary to their surroundings and the way the wall touches their long whiskers, the way the dirt and gravel crunches underpaw, the way their heavy breath echoes in the channel of shadows.

* * *

"Shallowstar! Shallowstar!"

The Clan's cries of support reach the stars above, gracing StarClan's ears with the yowls of agreement. In RiverClan's eyes, StarClan had chosen the right cat to lead.

The gray and white leader bows her head from Pikestar's former speaking spot - the mossy fallen log - and raises her tail for silence. When her inaudible command is not met, the female sits pointedly at the highest most spot on the dead wood and clears her throat, surveying the clearing with a stern green gaze.

"Ahem!" Frogjaw, sitting the closest to his mate, snarls brutally, forcefully encouraging the rest of the Clan to be quiet in the presence of their new leader whose patience was quickly dwindling. From her posture, she was clearly in no mood to be disrespected. While she admired Pikestar as a leader and followed along with his choices, Shallowstar was going to revolutionize RiverClan. She couldn't do such a thing if no one let her speak.

Finally, the cries fade with curious looks, expectant and bright eyed. All are eager to hear the first words of their new leader. More are interested in the naming of the deputy position, however. Surely she had someone in mind.

"Cats of RiverClan! As you may have guessed, I have received my nine lives from StarClan. I now stand before you as Shallowstar, leader of RiverClan. Pikestar was an admirable leader; he was fair and poised. It is an honor to carry on his legacy. And so, the time has come for me to pick who shall carry on my legacy after all of my nine lives are depleted."

The crowd remains silent aside from some hushed whispers that discuss the potential suspects.

There's many a conversation with the name Frogjaw passed around. Why shouldn't the big tom be deputy? He is her mate after all. He'd carry on the bloodline of pure RiverClan.

Her sons come up as well. Reedrush and Smoothfur. Reedrush is a bit more level headed if not a bit more angry faced. Smoothfur is similar, though with more snark than actual anger.

Duskbelly is perhaps mentioned once. He is not the eye-catching sight unlike his slightly older brothers. Out of the four littermates, Duskbelly is the most overlooked. Perhaps he would be worthy enough.

Sunpath is quickly shoved aside when everyone realizes the golden sun cat has not trained as a mentor yet. Also, his too aloof persona. Shallowstar would be crazy to let that kind of recklessness run her Clan.

Redbriar is too young and Shypaw is still obviously a 'paw.

Featherpaw is also a 'paw, though in a completely different field so his name is out of the question and never mentioned.

Lashtail is old enough. He's mentored many cats in his lifetime. However, the grump of a feline is close to retiring or so say the rumors. And those who know better assume that Shallowstar will pick based on family. For that is her plan to raise RiverClan to greatness. Family. Lashtail, to her, is not family.

"Reedrush," she begins, silencing all doubts as the mentioned warrior preens at the call of his name. From beside him, Smoothfur looks highly displeased while Duskbelly on the black warrior's other side, merely glances away in distaste. From further away, Sunpath snorts, muttering a quick "of course" under his breath as his mother tacks on. "I have seen your progress as a warrior quite frequently. I must say, I am pleased with what I observe. You excel as a warrior in RiverClan and I imagine you will carry a legacy. Do you accept?"

Reedrush answers immediately, wholeheartedly accepting the position without so much as a flicker of hesitation. "Of course, Shallowstar. I'll make a fine deputy."

Shallowstar, nods in response, obviously pleased with the answer even if many of the others of RiverClan weren't so certain. "Good. Then I call this meeting to dismissal. Reedrush, I expect to see you in my den as soon as possible." With her statements made, her first meeting as a clan leader coming to a close with a swish of her tail, the gray and white feline bounces off the mossy log and skirts into her new den in hopes to avoid any argumentative voices of her clanmates potentially questioning her authority or judgement.

Draping lichen cascades across her back as she slips through the entrance for the first time as a leader. Shallowstar casts a look passively at the cold gray walls of the rock den, wrinkling her nose at its musty smell. Its interior still reeks of its past leader - that old, muzzle graying, ticked tabby. The female looks irritably at the tousled mop of moss that Pikestar used as a nest. From her point of view, it looks ratty and torn and hardly acceptable for proper sleeping.

 _First things first,_ she tells herself, pawing the shriveled material into a haphazard lump while waiting for her newly named deputy to enter the den.

She perks her ears at the sound of pebbles knocked around, the accompanying sound of a throat being cleared.

"Ah, Reedrush, there you -" she turns around, abruptly stopping herself when she sees that the black pelt in front of her is not her eldest son.

It's her youngest.

"Mother, I'd like to speak with you."

* * *

 _A/N: Eyy, someone's being assertive again. Although, Featherbuddy, this tirade is getting a bit old. Do you really think Mommy's going to listen to you? Especially when you disobeyed her and the entire family by becoming a medicine cat. Pikestar didn't listen either, what makes Shallowstar any different?  
_

 _Also, fun side note, I'm finally out of school! At least until August calls. But I'm free for summer break which means more time to myself which means more time to write which means more updates! Hooray!_

 ** _Pondfrost_** _:_ _Hmmm, both are interesting suggestions. The latter is basically true, Featherpaw at this point refuses to meet with StarClan. He's a stubborn, biased baby XD._

 ** _BrightMind_** _:_ _It's all good. But yes, that was the explanation as to how Feather and Clear knew Nut had heard parts of the conversation._

 _Sunpath is a reasonable choice. I could see them as a mentor and apprentice certainly._

 _Eh, I don't want to spoil but I will say that this story has to do with point of view. How Russetburr is viewed is important._

 _I mean yeah, dead siblings aren't all that good. But devoted siblings are awesome!_

 _Guess you won't have to deal with Pikestar anymore, eh? XD_

 ** _Starrysong Likes Spring_** _: Well thank you! :3  
_

 _QotC: This was sort of another 'outsider' chapter, as I like to call them. Chapter 5 was also one of these types that details the outside events besides the drama of Feather, Nut and Brown. In this case, it was about Shallowfern. Or Shallowstar now, if you want to be technical. Speaking of Shallowstar, this update's QotC is wondering if you want to see Shallowstar's naming ceremony as a one-shot? I originally had plans to put it in, but it wasn't all that relevant to plot. Our story, contrary to belief, isn't about Shallowstar so I scrapped it and left it to Clearwater's supposition. So if you want to know who gave her the nine lives, would you like to read about it?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	17. Combination

"Combination"

* * *

"I want to be a warrior apprentice."

"And you're telling me this because. . . ?" Shallowstar prompts, gesturing for her son to elaborate further.

Featherpaw shifts, a bristle to his pelt. "Because Pikestar didn't listen to me when he was leader and I was hoping you'd accommodate my request."

"You mean, you're asking me to let you train as a warrior apprentice," the larger female reiterates, doubtfully glancing at the black tomcat, a glass of skepticism coating her eyes. Her tail swishes around from behind, settling neatly over her paws in a regal stature. "Why, pray tell?"

Featherpaw visibly sighs, as if he's physically tired of telling his reasons. "Bluntly put, my morals don't coincide with StarClan's. I no longer have the spark for healing cats. It's a chore rather than a fun choice."

"Last I recall, you became a medicine cat apprentice to spite our family lineage," Shallowstar frowns, shifting her posture in a more aggressive manner - glowering and towering over the smaller cat. "I didn't expect it to be fun, all things considered."

"I'll admit, it did have its perks," the 'paw shrugs, continuing his explanation breezily. "But I've come to realize where my ideals lie and becoming a warrior is the best way to pursue those ideals. Pikestar didn't share the same sentiment. I was hoping you would reconcile with my past actions as a childish brat and accept me back into your honor code as a true warrior." He blinks up at his mother with pleading blue, blue eyes.

Instead of protesting, the leader of RiverClan smiles warmly. "It's glad to have you back in the family, little one. I'm glad you see where your intentions lie, though I'm fairly miffed that it took you much longer to realize this. You were supposed to be my intelligent one of the litter." Her voice peels off near the end, sounding decently disappointed.

"I am, mother," Featherpaw rebukes, puffing his chest up a bit to expose the white dash. "Unlike Redbriar, I have learned many more skills than the average warrior. Shypaw is mentally stupid. Incapable of my prowess."

"Oh, sweetheart, I must apologize if you think your skills are above average," Shallowstar tsks sadly. "With you never getting the chance to train as a warrior, you've wasted half of your training on memorizing herb names and functions. That's hardly a warrior's skill set. I'm afraid even Shypaw outsmarts you in the warrior field. Speaking of my shy little bee, refrain from insulting your siblings. They are your kin and deserve respect, especially since they're older."

Featherpaw huffs, a sharp exhale, but falls silent, at a loss of words for once. He finally mews, "Does this mean you've accepted my request?"

"Of course," the gray and white she-cat purrs, rising to her paws. "I'll make sure you are trained by the best. Your father might be a bit older than expected but I think he'd be a good mentor. Or there's Reedrush! How would my precious feather soft kit like to be deputy's apprentice? I can certainly arrange that now that I'm lea -"

"Nutfur!" Featherpaw blurts, bringing the tirade of his mother to a quick halt.

She scrutinizes him warily. "Say who?"

"Nutfur," the tom repeats, sounding confident with his choice, gaze unwavering when it meets his mother's.

 _"Nutfur?"_ Shallowstar balks, muzzle contorting into a deep seated frown. "Oakfrost's son? The brother of the half-Clanner? _That_ Nutfur?"

"Yes," Featherpaw nods firmly.

"But," Shallowstar cringes, vocals strained. "Wouldn't you like someone better suited to teach an apprentice? Not to mention the son of the leader? Frogjaw is an ideal choice. Reedrush is also acceptable. If neither works you always have Smoothfur. Dare I say Sunpath? He's aloof, but at least I trust him more as a family member than I do with that Nutfur."

"I've made my choice," her son states clearly without missing a beat. His tail flicks irritably, half-convinced his mother won't go through with this just because of his choice of mentor.

 _Perhaps I should have gone with one of her suggestions. Maybe she won't let me become a warrior because I want Nutfur._

 _No, Featherpaw. Stay strong. You need Nutfur to be your mentor. It's the only way to restart your bond on a good note._

"I want Nutfur to train me."

There's a heavy, stagnant pause. The suspense drags on until there's a final sigh of reluctance.

"Very well," Shallowstar grumbles, deciding that her son becoming a warrior is a greater pro to the con of his mentor choice. She may not agree but if it gets Featherpaw to comply and be obedient again. . .

"You are allowed Nutfur as your mentor."

"Thank you, mother."

"No thank you's necessary. Send in Reedrush when you leave."

* * *

"Hello, hello," purrs a chiming voice before its host pokes its calico head inside the threshold of the stone faced den.

Reflexively, the ruddy brown tomcat's head raises in a swift motion, instantly locking eyes with the newcomer who's finally graced his presence with her own.

"Tansyspot," he greets, breathless with surprise as his ears fly up at attention. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not allowed to visit a friend?" the female calico smiles, her mismatched eyes swelling up with a sickeningly sweet kind of honeygush that captivates you and drags you under.

Brownpelt feels himself melt a little under her cheerful stare. "Of course you are!" he blurts in quick response, hurriedly giving her assurance. "Make yourself at home." He frantically waves his tail, freely gesturing to all the empty space around the den since he's alone in the den sans Clearwater who, interestingly enough, is out on an herb expedition when she realized her stores of watermint was depleting.

"You've been in here a while," Tansyspot meows, approaching the center of the den. She sits politely, wrapping her tail around her paws. Questioningly, she tilts her head to the side, looking highly inquisitive. "Are you thinking about coming back to your warrior duties? Some of us are rather worried that you haven't come back to the warrior's den since the fox attack. You've healed, haven't you?"

Brownpelt has mirrored her sitting position by this point but his head hangs down in thought. His eyelids shut, releasing a harsher exhale.

"I don't see any open wounds," the young warrior observes, leaning forward to inspect his ruffled brown coat. "No moss linings, no herb paste, no webbing. . ."

"I'm not injured, ok?" Brownpelt snaps, flashing his teeth which causes the tiny calico to shrink back up in fear.

Tansyspot whines feebly, "Ok, ok."

 _Ah frog-dung, didn't mean to snap at her!_

"Ah, eh, sorry, Tansyspot," Brownpelt ducks his head in shame, muscles tensing as he tries to hide himself in his nest whilst sitting in full visibility. "I didn't want to snap at you. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. I pushed too far. Somehow," Tansyspot murmurs in reassurance, looking equally distressed as she avoids eye contact and hunches her shoulders.

"It's just something I don't really like to talk about," the brown cat admits, keeping his voice low.

"You being in the medicine den for so long? Surely Clearwater wants you to go back to your own nest. She's not wasting herbs is she?"

"No," Brownpelt's voice is a little on the gruff side. "I don't need herbs. Only the occasional poppy seed to help me sleep."

"Having trouble sleeping?" Tansyspot questions, concerned.

Brownpelt shrugs. "Some nightmares here and there. Poppy seeds clear my head."

"Would it help if you had someone to share your nest?"

Brownpelt instantly flinches. His mind races to his sibling - his sibling sharing his bed, sharing his warmth, sharing his presence.

 _Why am I like this? Nutfur and I made up, right?_

 _But I'm the one who pushed him away._

 _I'm the one who said we can't share nests now that I'm a warrior. I'm the one who said I can look after myself. I'm the one who said that I don't need him._

Tansyspot approaches closer, slipping in the nest beside the other warrior in a fluid motion. Her pelt brushes up against his which startles the bigger tomcat wherein he snaps out of his reverie.

"Tansyspot!" he gasps in surprise.

"Sorry," the calico apologizes, rubbing her face into the tom's shoulder in a calming motion. "You looked stressed and tense so I just thought I'd assist. Momma always used to do this to my fur to help me calm down. It worked for me."

"Oh," Brownpelt murmurs softly, lulled into calmness with the repetitive rubbing motions that circles up on his shoulder before traveling down to his flanks. It reminds him of a mother doting after her kit - which was exactly Tansyspot's reasoning. There's a subtle pressure that lingers on his body with every nuzzle, a reassuring presence that reminds him that he's not alone and has someone who cares about him. He feels his eyelids slide shut, enveloped by the warm comfort offered to him.

"Thank you, Tansyspot," he slurs with relaxation.

"Not a problem, Brownpelt," the younger warrior purrs, a smile on her lips. "Everyone needs some comfort and you, my friend, have been comfort starved."

Brownpelt bites his tongue, tightening his eyes to hold back the sudden onslaught of tears that are threatening to break through. Tansyspot's words hit hard in his chest where he feels it clench at the thought of someone giving him comfort. For many moons, the only comfort he had been given was administered by his older brother. He didn't have a mother to give this kind of nurturing, he didn't have a father to give this kind of nurturing. Ripplemask was a pleasant foster mother, but when Tansyspot was born, the little calico absorbed all of her mother's affections and Brownpelt became less in need of constant attention. Nutfur was good enough as a guardian, but in terms of loving that came with a mother-like figure. . .

Brownpelt was comfort starved.

"D-don't take this personally, but I'm going to c-cry now," Brownpelt announces shakily, the tension in his shoulders shuddering as his body rocks with inner turmoil. He opens his eyes and instantly finds his vision wet and blurry. Quickly, the lids shut again, blinking away the gathering water as he feels the uncomfortable fat drops slip down his cheeks. Subconsciously, he leans into the touch of the warrior beside him, easily falling into her sideways embrace as she continues her nuzzling patterns.

The calico offers an unseen watery smile. "It's alright to cry," she mews quietly, coiling her tail around the hindquarters of Brownpelt as she remains by his side sitting upright in the nest.

"Thank you," the ruddy tomcat meows breathily, voice wracked with vocalized hiccups.

"Anytime."

* * *

"That. . . Oh wow. . . You're good. . ."

"Heh, thanks."

A breathless orange female lays on her side, slumped with over exhaustion mixed with immense pleasure as her hazy gaze meets another lustful pair. Her flanks rise and fall quickly, still rushing with adrenaline from their recent activities out in the reeds far away from camp where their clanmates had a lower chance of hearing their blissful cries.

"Just don't go and get attached," the bulky pale brown tomcat meows absentmindedly, licking his paw and running it over his ear a few times. "I don't really have the desire to settle down."

"Of course not, Nutfur," Splashtail croons, still hazed from her energy high. "Just consider me if you ever plan on settling to have kits. You're quite the looker."

Nutfur winks slyly. "You ain't so bad yourself, pretty thing. I'll keep your offer in mind."

Splashtail giggles.

"Alright, come on then," Nutfur leans over the orange she-cat, nudging her with his muzzle to try and get her on her paws. "We should get back to camp. You can sleep off your. . . whatever. . . back in your nest."

"Mmkay," the female lazily purrs, allowing herself to be rolled onto her paws and upright in a standing position. She walks with a little bit of a waddle in the direction of RiverClan's camp. Beside her, Nutfur walks with a small stumble but nothing drastic. It's blatantly obvious he's done this kind of thing before.

The pale brown tom strolls in through the reed barrier, his pelt bearing a pungent odor that proves his actions hours before. His prideful smirk tells all. Even if his fur didn't already.

Redbriar at the front entrance wrinkles her nose as he passes by, wherein he's quickly followed in by Splashtail. She no doubt assumes their activities and scorns them with a disbelieving scoff.

"Nice to see you, Redbriar," Nutfur comments breezily. "Bitter as ever."

The uptight she-cat offers a low hiss, "You reek, Nutface."

"I think you're just mad because you can't get any," the brown tom shoots back in an icy, yet somehow carefree tone, aloof and light with smugness. He's certainly satisfied when the reddish-brown female bushes up in anger, her pelt bristled from the crown of her head to the tip of her tail. Her lip curls noticeably, but from then on she refrains from saying anything else.

It's not as if she can anymore when a sudden cry echoes throughout the clearing. The yowl is special in terms of resonance as it spurs from a certain spot in camp - specifically the fallen mossy log in which the leader sits and addresses the Clan. As such, everyone turns their heads to look and spots the gray and white she-cat perching in poise, awaiting her clanmates to gather beneath the speaking place.

"All cats old enough to swim gather beneath the log!"

Quickly, like jostled minnows, the collective cats mingle around trying to find seats to sit and watch. Since Shallowstar's rise to leadership, many were eager to hear her plans for RiverClan. It wasn't much of a secret knowing that the female had ideas for RiverClan's prosperity. Any Clan meeting would be a good Clan meeting.

"Cats of RiverClan," Shallowstar begins in a loud, booming voice, inaudibly encouraging the rest of the cats to find a place to sit as they squish around in the clearing. "I have much needed ceremonies to perform. Shypaw, step forward."

The clearing full of cats watches with surprise as the small spotted tabby tom shuffles forward under orders of leader and mother. Behind him, his actual mentor Mistbloom, saunters up in a languid pace, whispering reassuring comments to the little cat as he stays true to his name and shies away from the stares of his clanmates. He stands before the gray and white she-cat and bows his head in respect.

"Shypaw, I held you back from your warrior name for an additional period of time. Back them I didn't think you were ready."

Some hold back their snickers, those select few knowing the real reason why Shypaw wasn't allowed to advance to warrior status on that particular day. When Shallow _fern_ had sent that withering glare to her son while both were covered in mud, those who saw this scene could gather the fact that Shypaw wasn't becoming a warrior. Now it seems he's redeemed himself enough to live up to Shallow _star's_ expectations.

"And now, with Mistbloom's acceptance, I believe you are ready. And so, I, Shallowstar, leader of RiverClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn. Shypaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?"

Shallowstar's stare is unwavering and serious, that of which sends a chill down the young tom's spine. He takes a deep, audible breath and announces, "I do."

Pleased, the leader smiles and continues the ceremony. "Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior name. From this moment on, you will be known as Shybee. StarClan honors your intuition and loyalty and we welcome you as a full fledged warrior of RiverClan."

As appropriate, the rest of RiverClan bursts into cheers for their new warrior.

"Shybee! Shybee! Shybee!"

Shallowstar continues grinning, satisfied with progress of her offspring. But there's still one more ceremony to perform. She raises her tail for silence.

"Quiet down!" the ever loyal Frogjaw hisses from beside Shallowstar on the ground, his hackles raised to execute his seriousness. Reedrush on the other side of the log tries to follow his father's pawsteps and equally addresses the rambunctious cats with a sequence of barking cries.

"Thank you, Frogjaw, Reedrush," Shallowstar nods to her family, raising her head to formally speak to the Clan once again. "It seems I have one more ceremony to perform."

While her pause for dramatic affect spans across the clearing, RiverClan as a whole is confused. A rippling murmur of confusion spreads around with quiet questions tossed around from cat to cat.

 _Ceremony?_

 _Who's ceremony?_

 _An elder's?_

 _There are no kits in the nursery until Daisybird's are born._

 _No more apprentices._

 _She's not going to make someone else her deputy, is she?_

"Featherpaw, step forward."

A collective gasp rushes through the Clan.

 _Since when does the leader name the medicine cat?_

The clearing of cats part, leaving a line of space to walk through when the small black tomcat pads ahead at his mother's call. His usual stoic pace is noted as he strolls ahead with newly found purpose and a certain gleam shining in his eyes. There's no smile, but then again, when has he ever cracked a real grin?

Featherpaw easily takes the spot where Shybee had been - right in front of the leader.

"Featherpaw, medicine cat apprentice to Clearwater, it has come to my attention that you wish to revoke your title."

"Indeed," the apprentice meows evenly, bobbing his head.

"You no longer wish to be Clearwater's apprentice, and even more so, you no longer wish to train as a medicine cat. You have asked to train as a warrior apprentice and I am here to grant your request. From this day forth, until you have reached the end of your training and earn a warrior name, you will remain as Featherpaw. Nutfur has been assigned to mentor you."

There's a choking noise in the back of the crowd and it parts once again to reveal the writhing pale tom struggling to regain a steady breathing pattern after the surprise of his life.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asks dumbfounded, voice raspy and strained from coughing.

"You, Nutfur, have been assigned to mentor Featherpaw. You are a noble warrior and are in need of a first apprentice. I have designated Featherpaw to you." From this point on, Shallowstar's smile seems falsified, as if every word she says, she doesn't mean.

Nutfur could care less about Shallowstar at this point. He's too busy staring in complete shock as he approaches the front of the clearing in order to interact with the black furred 'paw.

It's not like he can say no. This is Shallowstar giving him an apprentice. His first apprentice! He should be overjoyed.

And yet, there's still a feeling that rubs the pale warrior the wrong way when he glances down at his apprentice.

It's Featherpaw.

The cat that nearly ruined Nutfur's life.

Featherpaw.

"We're supposed to touch noses," the black tom supplies helpfully in a hushed whisper, looking expectant with his nose thrust out.

Nutfur suppresses a snort of disdain. Already his pelt has been thoroughly ruffled and they haven't even gotten to actual training.

Oh this will be fun.

Nutfur's whiskers twitch before he meets the other tom halfway and bumps their cold noses together in an action that seals the bond between mentor and apprentice.

That is, if the definition of "fun" means "absolute nightmare" then yes. . .

This will be fun.

* * *

 _A/N: Holy cow, Snark, it's only been four days! Yeah, I know right? I've been on a writing craze now that's school's out. And this is a longer chapter than most to some extent so you're welcome. c:  
_

 _So we get some snippets of what's exactly going on in certain areas. Hence the "combination" of lifestyles. Featherpaw convincing his mother, Brownpelt spending some quality emotional time with Tansyspot and Nutfur. . .oh Nutfur. . . I don't know where to start with you buddy, your relationships are so weird._

 _But speaking of Nutfur, let's talk mentor and apprentice. Tada! Featherpaw's a warrior apprentice! I bet you totally saw that coming though. I wasn't going to deny him for long. Though for some people, my choice in mentor might be a surprise. Sunpath was expected and a wonderful choice, might I add, but it's not the route I'm going for. I actually had this planned since very early on. It's all a recovery process._

 _ **Pondfrost :** Shallowstar isn't that bad of a leader honestly. She has faults, all good characters do, but she only wants the best for her Clan. She just has certain viewpoints on what "best" for her Clan is. She at least has family values. Reedrush being deputy will be interesting. We'll see more of him later._

 _I was considering it. It's not plot detrimental so I don't think I will. Maybe if I'm feeling particularly inspired but it would just be a one-shot and it wouldn't be written for a while anyways. I'll think more on it. Maybe, maybe not. Glad you enjoy my writing though :3 It makes me very happy._

 _ **BrightMind :** Yup, Pikestar's outta here. I kind of missed him though XD. He wasn't especially cruel, he just made some harsh judgement calls. Other than that he was the resident gathering softie who broke up arguments between the other leaders._

 _When planning this story, I thought about it from someone else's point of view. How do other characters in the same setting react to the situations? Many of them just happen to be part of Shallowstar's family XD. But a POV from Frogjaw would be entertaining. He is one of the lesser known. He's mentioned a lot with multiple scenes of dialogue, but it would be interesting to know him on a personal level like we do with Shallowstar. I will keep this in mind for further use._

 _And yes, for what reason does Shallowstar deny Featherpaw? He was her little feather soft kit after all. You were right about him going to his parents since Pikestar denied him though so props to you. What do you think about his mentor choice? Since you suggested that Sunpath would be it and he's not, I'm curious as to your thoughts on Nutfur being Featherpaw's mentor._

 _And like I said to Pondfrost, it's not plot relevant so I may not end up writing it. I'll just focus on this story for now._

 _QotC: Let's do another character evaluation! Anybody's favorite change? Is there a character you liked in the past chapters but suddenly hate them now? Is there a character you disliked before and have a sudden newfound respect for now? Some new changes have been fleshed out to certain characters and I'm curious to know what you think of them.  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	18. Adaptation

"Adaptation"

* * *

"I apologize."

"Huh?" Nutfur is certainly eloquent with his word choice, confused deeply by the latter's words once the clearing empties out and warriors go back to their own duties. Even Shallowstar had abandoned her post by now, requesting to speak with her mate and deputy in the confines of her den. Aside from those on the outskirts, the pale tom and black tom are the only ones left in the massive expanse of sand and dirt.

At this point, he assumes Featherpaw is apologizing for becoming his apprentice. Maybe it wasn't the younger tom's fault. Perhaps Shallowstar had put him up to it.

"For what?" he asks, trying to confirm his thoughts.

"Everything I did in this past moon to you and to your brother. I apologize." Featherpaw says his apology, but the emotion in his face says otherwise. There isn't a sympathetic gleam in his eyes - instead consumed by the vacant voidness. As usual, his muzzle is stout and uncrinkled. Flat and lifeless.

It's not a real apology.

There's no meaning behind it.

Nutfur's lip curls to show pearly whites. "Your words are riddled with holes like rotten wood infested with termites. I don't care what you say, you don't mean it. As far as I'm concerned, you haven't apologized. You have to earn the right to apologize to me. Brownpelt might have already accepted it, but I'm no fool. You're an emotionless freak. Say it to my face when you mean it. Not before. I hate being told lies. Clear?"

"As a shallow minnow pool," Featherpaw's response is immediate, just like it was beside the gorge when the fox had attacked.

Great StarClan, his words bring painful memories. How is he going to cope with this insufferable 'paw?

"Good enough," snorts the pale tomcat, slumping to a sitting position as he smooths out his ruffled fur that he had yet to clean from his earlier activities. He rasps his tongue over his paw, quickly running it over his ears in little, repetitive motions.

Distinctly puzzled, Featherpaw's voice speaks up again after a lapse of silence. "What do we start with?"

Nutfur looks up, equal confusion marring his visage. Desperately, he thinks back to his own mentor and what the pair of them did on a tiny Nutpaw's first day as a RiverClan apprentice.

"Typically, one apprentice would start with a tour of the territory but I've been apprenticed to Clearwater for moons. I'm fairly certain I know RiverClan's terrain from all of my herb hunting expeditions." Featherpaw sits poised and regal, leaving Nutfur to wonder sarcastically where he got such a posture. The elder apprentice has beaten him to the punch, making Nutfur look like a beached fish who is forced to flop and flail for he doesn't know what else to do.

In short, it makes Nutfur look rather stupid.

"Really?" the tomcat bites out harshly, his voice clipped and bitter without thinking his words carefully. "You know the territory that well? If you walked a hundred steps outside the entrance in a straight line, where would you end up?"

Featherpaw's nose wrinkles. "I don't know," he answers honestly, disdainful in tone. "Somewhere in the middle of the territory? A puddle?"

"A reed bed!" Nutfur crows haughtily, glowering over the smaller cat with superior height once he stands up.

"Well done, you know the territory better as a warrior who daily traverses the territory than a small former medicine cat apprentice cooped up in their little rock den surrounded by plants," Featherpaw deadpans, gazing up at his new mentor with an unimpressed stare. His tone is patronizing and condescending and it makes Nutfur's pelt bristle.

"First things first," he growls, a little swish with his bobtail. "We're getting rid of that attitude. I'm your mentor and you should respect me as such. I don't like your back talk."

"I'm sorry if you don't like the way I speak," Featherpaw shoots back, voice slack of emotion other than that ever present snark.

"Well I don't so how about you shut your trap and follow me."

"Where are we -"

"I said shut your trap," Nutfur snaps, ears pinned against his skull in frustration as he stalks in the direction leading outside past the reed barrier where no doubt one of Featherpaw's other siblings stand on guard. The lanky black tom shuffles up beside his mentor just as the pair reaches the foliage where Duskbelly is on duty. He blinks slowly at both, watching them warily as the duo bounds out into the watery marshy land before disappearing behind the broad leafed ferns.

The mud squelches beneath their paws, sinking into the crevices of the pads with a soothing sense of coolness. Nutfur's pelt burns hot with suppressed fury - as a contrast, the cool mud serves a purpose. The wetness grounds him and keeps his emotions at bay less he explodes again like he practically did in the clearing telling the smaller cat to shut up.

Their paws reach that particular bit of watery land the divides the drained island of camp and the rest of the grass and water-side plant infested territory. They wade through the deep puddles, relishing the feeling of cold water lapping at their legs in a familiar calmness that many RiverClan cats desire. The small shoreline they run up on is a fairly muddy slab riddled with cat prints no doubt from the other warriors passing through here on their way to patrol. The smell is overly thick with the earth; water, marsh, mud, shoreline creatures.

Nutfur takes the path less traveled and forcibly traverses through the unparted weeds and tall stemmed plants with a brutish mentality, letting the fronds whiplash and smack back at the unsuspecting apprentice who is, at the very least, following orders and remaining quiet in terms of verbal words.

Featherpaw keeps a tight lip as he allows himself to be led through the bristled path where the ferns drag against his pelt in an unpleasant way. True to his obedient nature, he complies with the 'no talking' rule and walks in silence.

That is until he sees something that perks his ears and his interest.

"I've already seen the territory. Why are we at the river?"

Nutfur whirls around on him once they pass the final barrier of fronds where the sandy shore is clear. For a calm day, the stream is calm and it gently brushes up against the stepping stones that lead over to ThunderClan's side of the water. The warrior gruffly announces, "I'm not going to put it lightly, you probably suck at fighting."

"Thanks for being blunt," Featherpaw interrupts snidely in a mutter.

"We'll start there," Nutfur continues, acting as if Featherpaw never spoke. "Since you've clearly expressed you know the territory so well, we're jumping straight into battle training. Your basic defensive moves won't get you very far, not in the heat of battle. Now, show me what you have."

Featherpaw's pelt ruffles, shaking itself as its host settles its muscles into a low crouch. The tomcat flexes out his toes, disturbing the sand.

"Don't show me a hunting crouch," complains Nutfur with a sneer. "Show me how you fight!"

Featherpaw tenses, persistently crouching. "I don't know how to fight! I just know basic defense!"

There's a smirk on the brown cat's muzzle. "Then I guess I'll have to show you."

Nutfur is light on his feet in an instant, kicking up the sand with one big powerful push of his hind legs. He crashes into his apprentice, leaning in with his shoulder to push the smaller cat to the ground.

Featherpaw's a bit smarter than he seems at first glance. There's an audible grunt escaping his parted maw, but he eventually sits back into the attack and rolls, collapsing with his legs and leaning onto his side in order to roll over fully and incorporate his unused paws to bat the much larger tom aside. Once he's on his feet again, Nutfur's already close behind with a set of snapping jaws and powerfully sharp teeth inching at his tail.

Hot on his heels, Nutfur pursues his frightened prey down toward riverbank where the sand and dirt meets the water. There's a splash of his own paws breaking the surface tension, sending water droplets flying with every lift of his appendage. Featherpaw is easily a few steps ahead, using superior agility to swerve and dodge when he moves. Nutfur is more relentless and lunges with nearly every step, baring his teeth with the intention to bite and tear.

Featherpaw trips over his paws when Nutfur pushes him further out to wade. He falls to his side and the water flares up in his face, obscuring his vision. The apprentice yelps, his cries drowned out by the water now in his mouth.

Nutfur rears, bringing his paws down atop the surface with a mighty splash. He experiences a rush of sadistic pleasure to see the black cat writhe and squirm under the onslaught of waves.

Featherpaw coughs loudly, choking on a mixture of air and liquid. "N-nut-fur!"

With a dark snarl, Nutfur advances in a rush, physically pushing the lighter feline further out into the water where there's less of a chance to grip the mud and pebble riddled ground beneath the water. He watches the black head dip below the water's surface for a few moments before popping up once again, coughing and spitting.

"Nutfur I- I can't -"

His voice is cut off with another coughing fit as he's being shoved under the water again courtesy of big broad brown paws. Below the water, his vision is murky. He can see the swirls of the water as its whipped around with every flash of paw or leg. Below the water, he feels trapped, contained, muffled. Habitually, his jaw snaps open to cry for help but instead it's instantly flooded with his surroundings. His inner chest aches with the pain, flooding his very being. His cries are nothing more than hazy bubbles - out of sight out of mind.

"I can't swim!" the apprentice wails upon surfacing.

With those words, the darkness in Nutfur's eyes fade. Where they were once consumed by blackness, the light returns to illuminate his original bright green. He ceases in his wild and catastrophic motions, watching in horror as the black shape slips back under the surface and thrashes below with muffled screams. He thrusts his face into the water, opening and closing his jaw in rapid succession until it clamps down on the scruff of Featherpaw's neck.

Waterlogged, the apprentice is much heavier than assumed and Nutfur struggles to heave the limp body out of the water's grip. Huffing and puffing, the pale brown tom, equally drenched, hauls the 'paw onto the sandy shore. He watches the body slump, lifeless on the ground. Even under his incredibly black pitched pelt, there is no movement of his flanks.

"Oh, StarClan," Nutfur pales, instantly pawing the smaller cat's face. "Come on, wake up! Shallowstar will kill me if you're dead!" He presses his weight down on Featherpaw's chest, watching with relief as the black cat instantly spits up water from his lungs. He pulls away to watch Featherpaw recoil onto his side and choke up the rest, wheezing and spitting with fervor.

"You ok?" the warrior inquires, leaning forward earnestly.

Featherpaw lifts his head, craning it over his shoulder to glare at his mentor square in the eyes. He coughs again and spittle drips from his mouth. "No, I am not ok."

"Well, stand up and we'll have another go and next time -"

"I don't want a next time!" Featherpaw growls, lips curled, slumped on his side. "I don't know attacking moves and I certainly don't know how to attack in the water."

Nutfur lets the air pause, only listening to the sounds of heavy panting and water dripping. He finally meows calmly, "So why didn't you parents teach you how to swim? They seem like the kind of folks who would. You know, the type who want their children to be powerful and talented? Pure RiverClan material, wouldn't you say?"

"I was a drypaw," Featherpaw admits, gaining his sense of breathing back, looking Nutfur in the eye. Still wary but less hostile. "Sunpaw tossed me into one of the streams. Terrified me half to death. Wouldn't go in the water after. My parents gave up on me. Never learned to swim. Clearwater didn't know. Never asked. Never came up in conversation. Never learned to swim."

"Then we'll start there," Nutfur announces proudly.

"Start where?" Featherpaw scoffs. "The water? No thank you."

"We started out on the wrong paw. I don't particularly like you, but you're still my apprentice and I say we're going to learn how to swim," the warrior insists, refusing to budge on his demand.

"I refuse." A cocky Featherpaw snorts, lifting his nose in a catty fashion.

"And I make the orders," an equally stubborn Nutfur growls. "Get in the water."

"No."

"Get in the water!"

"I said no, for StarClan's sake! Let it go and you can teach me battle moves instead."

"I'll teach offensive moves after you're in the water and can swim properly. So get in the water."

"Not going to happen."

"Yes."

"No."

"Ughhh," Nutfur sighs in exasperation as he glances up at the sky, desperate for this day to go well despite its very obvious not going well circumstances. That familiar bubbling heat is back in his pelt, scorching his skin with the intent to lash out and roar out his frustrations. It hasn't even been a full day and the warrior is emotionally done with his childish brat of an apprentice.

Slowly, he slips back into the mindset of his days with a much younger Brownpaw. As a kit and young apprentice, Brownpaw himself was a brat - stubborn and very grating on the ears. How did Nutfur ever deal with such a bother?

The bulky warrior inhales deeply and exhales loudly, clearing his head of any negative thoughts that could potentially impede his judgement on what he says or does in the next few moments. "Featherpaw," he meows slowly, voice even. He waits until he receives a response. An ear flick is good enough before he continues. "I won't toss your hide into the water. We can start slow. Come put your paw by the river's edge."

He doesn't wait for an audible response, though he's grateful that there isn't another one of the apprentice's repulsive "no" statements as the pale furred warrior pads away and settles himself in the sand with his forepaws pressed on the edge of the river where the liquid laps gently at his toes. The breeze runs along his fur, rushing between the hairs on his face with a gentle caress.

Nothing but the soft whispers of the wind echoes around the pale warrior. He sits, surrounded by the noises of nature and nothing less.

He sits with his eyes closed, but there's a shift in the air followed by the presence of someone else sliding up beside him. He hears a little splash and jostle of the water and carefully, he peeks one eye open and looks at the ground.

Featherpaw's two front forepaws are touching the water.

It's a start.

* * *

 _A/N: So here we have a young, new warrior apprentice Featherpaw adjusting to his new life. Stressful, yeah? First you have a mentor that doesn't like you and then you're practically drowned. Yeah fun times all around. There's definitely still some tension between these two and it'll be a while before Nutfur finally accepts Featherpaw's apology. If he ever will.  
_

 _ **Pondfrost :** Shallowstar is interesting, yes. It seems everyone really likes her oddly enough. _

_So if Nutfur is the childish one now, maybe we'll continue seeing him as a mentor and see if he takes the role seriously._

 _ **BrightMind :** Oh yes, the rational choice would be Sunpath. If you wanted a solid relationship that works out perfectly. But who wants that when there's potential drama and despair and all of the angst? Case in point, this chapter ;)_

 _I'm glad you like Shallowstar and Frogjaw. I honestly didn't mean for them to be such a good pairing until I kept writing it like that. Everyone seems to like Shallowstar for some reason though. I don't know why XD_

 _ **Starrysong Likes Spring :** Thanks for all of those possible names! That's a lot to consider. c:_

 _QotC: Let's talk hypothetics. Out of the major cats in RiverClan, who'd be the most likely to die?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	19. Precipitation

"Precipitation"

* * *

"All right, work with me here. Come a little bit closer. All four paws in the water."

Little splashes, little plinks, little movements.

Featherpaw shifts from his position on the riverside shore, heeding the words of his mentor and stepping all four of his little black paws into the stream. It's a cold comfort on his fur. To Featherpaw, water is an odd concept. Especially when such a shivering substance envelops his own paws in a weird sort of fluid grip. It holds him to the ground but he's still free to walk where he pleases unless he's swept aside by a harsh current.

"That's it," Nutfur's words of praise sound genuine despite their angry quarrel no less than a sunrise ago when the apprentice was named as the pale warrior's charge to instruct and to look after. The two had shared some words the other day which resulted in Featherpaw giving away a little more about himself that he would have prefered.

The warrior's voice persists.

"There you go. That's better. Tell me how it feels."

Doubtful, Featherpaw lifts his head up to squarely stare at his mentor. His face marrs skepticism as he relishes in a woeful sigh. "It's cold," he announces stiffly, plucking a paw from the water's grip and furiously shaking off the offending liquid with a barrage of tiny droplets. "I think this is far enough for today."

"This is nothing," Nutfur's scoff sends a twinge of shame down the apprentice's spine. "You're being a wimp about it and you're only paw deep. What about those puddles we crossed to get out here?"

Featherpaw lashes his tail for emphasis on his irritation. "Clearly, your fat head was facing too far forward to see that I jumped over most of them. The deepest I went was to my paws. See? You can still be a RiverClan cat without knowing how to swim. I can still be able to fight on the ground and if I need to cross a stream, I'll find stepping stones to help me."

"Stepping stones are not the point," Nutfur sighs in exasperation. Featherpaw notes that he's been doing a lot of that ever since he became the warrior's apprentice. "You need to be able to swim in case of an emergency. What if there's a flood or something? You'll drown."

"Higher ground," Featherpaw insists, snootily tilting his muzzle upright.

"Higher ground where?" Nutfur gripes, pelt on the verge of bristling like a thorn bush. "We're on flat land, fishface. Now, take a few more steps closer to me. You'll feel better."

"Oh, will I?" the apprentice mutters, bitterness on his tongue as he begrudgingly lifts his paws awkwardly to take a a few additional steps in the direction of big and bulky Nutfur.

The warrior is settled nicely in the stream with the surface of the water reaching comfortable levels at his chest height. Despite his obvious agitation from being around a stuffy apprentice, he seems overly calm enmeshed with the current as it swivels around his shape before continuing on its path downstream.

Featherpaw, grumbling, takes another step forward and is completely taken by surprise when the ground suddenly divots. He yelps, his right shoulder dipping under the surface of the soft waves. Instantly terrified of going deeper, the black tom furiously backs up, ending whatever progress he had made within the past few moments.

"Agh, but we made progress!" Nutfur whines out of frustration, watching helplessly as his apprentices splashes away and shakes out his thicker pelt with all four of his paws back on the sand and dirt terrain of the riverbank.

"Exactly," Featherpaw runs his tongue over his paw then over his ear. "Progress was made. We can end it here for today."

"Stop being so darn stubborn!" Nutfur growls, stamping his foot and sending a flurried cascade of water droplets up in the air. The disturbed river quakes with the pressure.

"Stop being so darn rude," Featherpaw shoots back, childishly sticking out his tongue in fierce retaliation.

"Real mature, Featherkit," Nutfur bares his teeth, the back of his spine bristling.

"Name calling? Aren't mothers supposed to teach their kits that name calling is wrong?" Featherpaw has his back turned on his mentor, though his head is craned over his shoulder and he's smirking. "Oh wait, your mother wasn't around long enough to teach you that."

"Say that again and I swear your black pelt will be stained red for the next moon you horrible brat!" Nutfur's voice is on the edge of a screech. He's fast losing his temper as he's already quickly advancing toward the edge of the stream, teeth bared and claws unsheathed.

"Your mother wasn't around long enough to teach your manners," the black cat sneers, clearly asking for a fight even though his skills are lackluster.

Nutfur hisses. "You are one cocky little snot. Do you really want me to whip your rear like a misbehaving kit?"

The tension flares when the black cat arches his spine, rounded ears flattening against his cranium whilst his eyes flash with challenge. "Try me," he goads, his own claws sliding out and pricking the earth.

From Nutfur's maw erupts a furious roar, powerful enough to made the reeds quiver and the prey run for cover. His cry is strained and blood hungry. The sound alone is gut wrenching and grating on the ears. From a spectator's point of view, one could hear the pain, the fear, the rage, all in one noise. The pale warrior charges forward, bloodshed set on his mind as he lurches and snaps with all his releasing fury. He raises a broad paw, ready to swat the smaller tom like a fly and crush him to the soil.

Featherpaw's quick enough to duck his head, panic flooding his chest when he hears the whoosh overhead where the dangerously clawed appendage nearly struck his head.

Nutfur strikes again. He lashes out his other paw in an upward swipe, hoping to catch the other tom on the jaw. He knows he hits his mark when he hears a shrill cry of pain but he doesn't stop to see where the blow connected. There's just that minute yelp before he pursues his onslaught of pain and prepares to rain down like a fiery torrent.

Featherpaw flies under Nutfur's exposed belly when the pale cat rears to avoid the slashing of those big savage paws. By now he's radiating fear scent, knowing very well he stands little to no chance against the bigger, more experienced warrior. He can feel the blood pound through his ears, heart thumping in his chest at a rapid pace. Swiftly, he manages to nip the warrior's hind paw on his escape out between Nutfur's legs. Featherpaw's safe in the open for the most part while Nutfur bumbles around on his large paws, nearly tripping as he whirls around to counterattack.

Nutfur's scrambling against the soil, kicking up the debris with haphazard motions.

Featherpaw's still floundering around on his paws, flailing in his attempt to get away.

Nutfur leans forward, cornering his apprentice between a hefty set of claws and the roar of the river. He watches, rapt with attention but blind with rage as he swipes across, catching a quick glimpse of crimson on the black tom's cheek where he must have struck earlier with his sloppy uppercut. He lashes out again, subconsciously shouting out the counter strike.

"Duck and go for the exposed shoulder!"

The warrior doesn't know why he spouts off this useful information, only knowing that his own mentor mentioned something like this when he was being trained. He only knows that he suddenly bears pressure of teeth burying themselves in said exposed shoulder. When he carries through with his swipe motion, he now has his back to the 'paw, preparing a high hiked kick.

"Unguarded underbelly!" the pale warrior crows in a fierce growl, somehow surprised when he's subjected to a nip at his revealing stomach. When his hind legs slam back down on the ground, Featherpaw is already in front of him, staring wide-eyed and aghast at how well the tips are helping.

"Now stop your defense. Go for the offense. Strike and strike _hard!"_ A less angry Nutfur crouches, back arched, ready to intercept the oncoming blow.

Something in Featherpaw's stormy eyes hardens and a familiar passion blooms. The apprentice surges forward, forepaw raised at the last moment as a feigning method.

Nutfur bobs his head, guessing correctly as to which side to duck to when the appendage strikes out as an attempt to slash his face. The warrior ducks down further, lunging for the belly which throws Featherpaw off his balance. Neither notices when their soil terrain changes to the water. Both are too engrossed in their battle to care for their surroundings.

Featherpaw thrashes from on his side back on his paws, strangely unaware of the cold chill cascading over his own fluffy pelt quickly dampening with the excess water. His own scent, a mix of fear and excitement, masks the touch of the distasteful texture of liquid swarming over his body. Heeding to Nutfur's wisdomful shouts of offense, the tomcat lashes out with his forepaw, a streamline of water revealing the line of attack. A giddy feeling rushes through his veins when he feels his own paw thwack triumphantly against Nutfur's face in order to keep the larger tom at bay. When he gets back up to his paws in a proper stance, he expects a furious pale tomcat ready to knock him back down and tear him a new one. So it's a surprise when a smug looking warrior is standing chest deep in the river.

Featherpaw is a little further out, chest deep as well though because of his size, he's in a different placement than his mentor.

"Nutfur, I'm in the water," he mews quietly in whispered surprise as he stares at his calmly rippling reflection.

"Yeah you are," There's a little pride in the older tom's voice, a lilt in his tone that has replaced the pure hatred and the threats and the violence.

"I'm not having a panic attack," Featherpaw adds, voice still quiet.

"You are correct."

"I'm still cold though. Nearly my entire body is covered in water and it feels unsettling," Featherpaw notes, shifting from paw to paw under the water, voice wavering.

"But. . .?" Nutfur prompts, encouraging more verbally announced emotions from his apprentice.

"But it's not altogether unpleasant. RiverClan is water. RiverClan is my home. Home can be unsettling and uncomfortable but it's where I belong." There's a hitch in his vocals near the end of his statement, accompanied with a much more pronounced sob. "It's where I am the minnow, following the stream to the puddle where I have made my home. I belong in RiverClan. I don't care if no one can see it but I belong. I belong."

Echos of the water surround the paralyzed apprentice in soft sounds of little splashes, little plinks, little movements. In a few seconds, Nutfur approaches and stands mostly silent in front of his charge, an unseen warm smile passing over his muzzle. His head lowers and gently thrusts his muzzle to nuzzle Featherpaw's forehead. "No one said you didn't belong. You've always belonged, no one has said otherwise."

"Have you never heard my tale of woe?" Featherpaw sniffles, keeping his head down. "I was a brat as a kit. I chose to be a medicine cat out of spite. Under my leg is a scar given to me by my _own parents_ as a symbol of my outcast status. They didn't even teach me how to swim after my childish refusal. If they were really dedicated to my success, they would have encouraged me more. _They_ didn't think I belonged."

"You're a brat _now_ ," Nutfur chuckles, a twinge of friendly annoyance clinging to his tone. "Pain in my rear certainly. You were also a pretty bad medicine cat. Spoutin' off nonsensical prophecies and omens about death and destruction. But whatever, you're _my_ apprentice now and _I'm_ the one who's teaching you how to swim and _I'm_ the one who believes you belong."

Featherpaw releases another pitiful whine, sounding more and more like a kitten.

He's now free to admit it.

He's weak.

He's childish.

He's emotional.

He's annoying.

He's rude.

He's. . . Featherpaw.

"Hey."

The inner kitten is slowly pulled from his reverie, much like an underwater subject resurfacing. His little stocky crown finally lifts up, bringing to light his watery orbs of sad blue pools.

"Kiddo, you're a-ok. No more tears please. You'll bring out my inner mother and Brownpelt thought it was a ridiculous phase so let's not tarnish my image any more than need be." That beaming smile is enough to make the shaky apprentice weak in the knees. He experiences another rush of bubbling tears, preparing for the worst when he ducks forward for a taste of physical touch.

Nutfir is thrown back a little at the impact, the breath knocked from his chest for a minute as the apprentice buries himself in his waterlogged chest fur. The muffled cry is another set of sniffles, a half audible whine of "'m oh moshnal."

"What was that?" Amused, Nutfur cranes his head to listen closer. He picks up his paw to poke Featherpaw on the shoulder. "You're so what?"

"'m so emotional!" Featherpaw whines in distress, pulling his head back far enough to let his voice be heard.

There's a flap of wings, signifying the presence of a bird that the wailing apprentice scared off.

"All right, all right, kiddo. Let's get out of the water," Nutfur steps back, far enough to start guiding the soaked black cat back toward the shoreline. "You're drenched and I don't think you want to make Clearwater take care of a sickly you."

As such, Featherpaw chooses now as a good time to sneeze, a little stream of river water and snot streamlining in tiny flecks from his nostrils.

"Mmhm, my point," the warrior gestures, nudging the 'paw further along out of the water.

Once the pair is released from the river's chilling grip, they simultaneously, inaudibly decide at that moment to vacantly stare at each other in a comfortable silence.

Featherpaw takes in the size of the warrior. He's noticeably taller, but surely Brownpelt is catching up - him and his gangly long legs and all. His pale pelt is still soaked from their river excursion, resulting in a much darker shade of nut brown. Droplets of the river still cling to his pelt, many dropping off in tiny lines and creating tiny puddles beneath his well muscled physique. With one sniff he smells like RiverClan; marshy, reed-like, muddy, a hint of pine. And his eyes. . . no longer are they hazy with the rage. Featherpaw realizes he made a mistake with his antagonistic ways. He much prefers the calm, green-leaf shade Nutfur's eyes are now than compared to the dark, overly shadowed hue that belongs to the bloodlust. Here and now his eyes are bright and green, an earthy shade that fits the warrior in every way. Just like how hazel fits Sunpath, how amber fits Smoothfur, how green fits Reedrush. They all mold perfectly in sync. And Nutfur is among them - how his dazzling emerald pools match with his inner soul.

Equal in staring, Nutfur lets his mind wander as his subconscious surveys the sight of his apprentice. The pipsqueak of a cat isn't exactly so short. With all his moons training under Clearwater, he's certainly gained some height and weight when compared to his kithood. Certainly, he shorter than Nutfur himself, signifying their little age gap. Though with a few moons of intense training to make up for lost time, Nutfur can feel the anticipation of watching his first 'paw achieve a warrior name and fight alongside him. The fleeting idea makes his heart swell marginally with pride, thinking ahead, thinking of how well he's to be respected. The idea of how the brother of a half-Clanner took a struggling apprentice with a paw in the herbs and a paw in the heat of battle and how Nutfur was the one to help him find a place in the world. Though, he's a little ways off. From a long look, Featherpaw is still a scrawny thing with a waterlogged pitch black, feather soft coat. Water drips from his slightly longer coat, spawning his own puddles of fallen droplets beneath him. Nutfur can still smell the fear scent, the excitement scent, the wary scent. Featherpaw is a mix of emotions, he's a while ways off from becoming a well seasoned warrior. But his eyes. . . StarClan forbid they're so blue. They remind him of the same blue, blue shade of the sky after a violent storm. It's a calming factor that Nutfur finds himself lost in. Featherpaw's radiant, blue blue eyes. It's fitting - a cat with an inner storm brewing inside of him, who has his own set of emotional sapphires that can glow with fury or settle with the calmness of an undisturbed puddle.

Nutfur finally breaks their low panting silence. "Well," he begins, blunt and somewhat amused. "I think that's enough training for one day. What say you?"

Featherpaw shakes out his coat, sending a small cascade of water off of his body. When he stills, his blue eyes meet Nutfur's green. "I think a break would be adequate."

And like a ray of sunshine escaping the rainy clouds, there's a shift in the black cat's muzzle. It's a halfway and upturned, somewhat lopsided, but at the very least, it's genuine.

Featherpaw's smile.

* * *

 _A/N: AHHHHHH THEY'RE CONNECTING!  
_

 _In all seriousness though, these two fish-brains are making significant progress. Nutfur hasn't quite forgiven Featherpaw - there hasn't been an actual apology with an actual acceptance - but they're making progress. And hey! Nutfur got little emotionless Featherpaw to smile. A real genuine smile. Hooray!_

 _Hmm, what else. Oh yeah, another crack in the geode that is Featherpaw. Poor guy's dropping his emotionless façade quicker and quicker. He'll break soon enough. *sinister cackle*_

 _On a fun note, I'm back into the swing of chapter updates now. The muse that sits on my shoulder has returned after my little outdoor trip I had over the past few days and now I'll be updating a little more frequently. As in, chapters every few days compared to every few weeks or, StarClan forbid... months. D:_

 _ **Pondfrost :** Sunpath is an interesting choice. So is Tansyspot. Hmm. All hypothetical though. I may not kill off anyone. Or I might. Who knows? ;)_

 _Glad to know last chapter was satisfying. Featherpaw certainly had it coming. Guess he kinda got kicked again here. A lesser amount, but we learned some things yet again._

 _ **BrightMind :** Yeah, Nutfur's still young and very inexperienced and very touchy. Annoying apprentices don't sit well with him. _

_Featherpaw indeed has been getting a little snarkier. Almost as if he's trying to justify his change to warrior apprentice and prove that he knows more than the average apprentice. Which in some cases, he actually doesn't. Still a pain in the tail though. Can't ever learn to keep his mouth shut for very long._

 _ **Starrysong Likes Spring :** Apprentice-mentor bond is good. Well, these two are slowly getting better. Apologies haven't been made nor accepted, but I think both are kind of neutral to one another now. _

_I really didn't intend for Shallowstar to be this interesting. XD Ah well, c'est la vie. I'll continue to write her as such and write her developing leader skills._

 _QotC: Let's evaluate Nutfur's mentoring skills. XD Obviously, he's still a young warrior and rather inexperienced. Not to mention he got as his first apprentice, the very cat who nearly ruined his life. But surely, there has to be something he's doing right? He's not a great mentor, but he's not a bad mentor either (aside from that whole drowning experience cough cough). What do you guys think?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	20. Creation

"Creation"

* * *

The yowl surprises everyone.

Some cat's echoing cry of pain causes the heads of many to perk up in unexpected bewilderment. Quick as a flash of lightning, their eyes are open, flashing brilliant colors that struggle to adjust to the darkness. Whiskers twitch, eyes widen, ears flick, spines bristle, hearts pound.

Curious glances are tossed around in the hue of the night, silent and inaudible until they hear the panicked cry of another.

"Clearwater! Where's Clearwater?"

Reedrush's voice is urgent, quivering with barely suppressed fear. He's crashed into the medicine den, fervently scanning for the blue-gray tabby she-cat. From a nest off to the side, the ruddy brown warrior who has made this den his temporary home, lifts his head. Reedrush ignores him and bares his teeth in frustration, mouth ajar with a definite fierceness dedicated to himself. He throws aside the fern patch, expecting to catch sight of the medicine cat - not expecting to see her former apprentice.

Sleep dulled, Featherpaw's fair on the slow side when he raises his head with a languid motion, blearily blinking awake his bright blues.

"Reedrush?" he meows sleepily, voice gravelly and rough with lack of a decent sleep schedule. "What are you doing here?"

"I could as you the same question," the elder brother snarks quickly, noting the fact that the ex-medicine cat apprentice is sleeping in the current medicine cat's nest. He quickly shakes out his thick crest of a head, panic welling up in his eyes again. "Whatever your reasoning, I could care less. Where is Clearwater?"

"It's the half-moon," Featherpaw slurs eloquently, rolling out his pink tongue in a loud, obnoxious yawn. "She's gone to visit the moonstone with the other medicine cats from the other Clans to meet with StarClan." He flicks an ear, then mutters under his breath, "Bunch of flea-bitten liars. Good riddance."

"Have you not heard the yowls?" Reedrush demands, pelt bristled like an angry thornbush. "Daisybird is in pain!"

"And?" the black cat snorts, heartless in nature. "What do you suppose I'm to do about such a situation?"

"Help her, for StarClan's sake!" the other black tomcat snarls, missing the way his younger brother flinches at the origin of his cursing. His tail lashes furiously. "If Clearwater's gone, you're filling in! Help Daisybird!"

"I can do no such thing," Featherpaw sniffs pointedly, looking as if he's going to curl up and fall asleep again. "I'm no longer the medicine cat apprentice. I have no obligation to assist you in medicinal needs."

"No obligation, my foot!" Reedrush snaps, advancing with one threatening step forward. "It doesn't matter if you're a medicine cat apprentice or not, you selfish swine, you have an obligation to the _Clan!"_ Furious, he yowls loud enough to rival his mate in the den furthest away. "Now grab your supplies, get in the nursery, and _help the love of my life!"_

Featherpaw frowns, opening his mouth for protest before Reedrush cuts him off once again.

"No smart remarks. I'm pulling my rank on this one, Featherpaw. StarClan help me, I will bite you."

His pitch pelt bristles, the light of his blue eyes hollowing. The apprentice shuffles to his paws in a brisk manner, inaudibly reassuring his brother that he is indeed, following orders. He quickly mills about the den, muscle memory clicking into his motions as he plucks up parcels of leaves from their place nestled in different parts of the stock holes. Within seconds, his mouth is filled with various plants and a rather thick stick. He slides past Reedrush, brushing past the older tom's shoulder on his way out of the den and into the stagnant air before it's pierced again with a cry of pain.

Featherpaw feels another bump against him as Reedrush barrels past him, streaking like a black comet in the night, bolting for the nursery and disappearing with a frantic scuffle of his paws. By now, many cats have poked their heads out of their dens, overly inquisitive and sympathetic to the queen without a proper medicine cat at her side.

Once he enters the den, Featherpaw's mind whirls. He doesn't think he's ever seen his eldest brother so heartfelt about anything in his life besides the obvious succeeding his mother as deputy goal. As he spots the cream female laying on her side in ghastly pain, mewing worriedly at her choice of mate, the apprentice forms a little self respect for the young deputy.

 _At least he's good enough to find someone who loves him enough to look past his faults_ , he surmises offhandedly, padding closer to the moaning queen in painful distress.

 _Of all times to go into labor. . ._ Featherpaw sighs through the objects in his mouth, daintily setting them off to the side. There's a rustle behind him and several cats have poked inside to inspect the situation. Among them, Shallowstar.

As the newcomers start to swarm in out of sympathy, eagerly crowding the kitting she-cat with affection and proud praise, Featherpaw starts to experience the cramping of the den. It's not meant for this many cats and he won't be able to properly work with all of these distractions. The chatter is relentless - so many words, so many sounds, so many cats.

"It'll be fine darling."

"Your kits will be fantastic!"

"I remember my first kitting - painful, but you're young and strong. You'll make it through."

"I believe in you Daisybird!"

A stressed out Featherpaw growls, loud enough to be heard over the conversations, "All right, I need everyone out of here!"

The speeches stall to a halt, all eyes on the ruffled apprentice with his eyes clamped shut in a feeble attempt to block out the noises.

A jubilant Splashtail scoots out quickly with Cloudyhaze, their faces marring disappointment that they don't get to witness the miracle of life.

A frowning Minnowrunner relents and totters off.

A protective Smoothfur and Duskbelly stand close to Reedrush for support, but a fierce glare from their youngest sets them on their way.

Soon it's only himself, Daisybird, Reedrush, and Shallowstar huddled in the marshy bungalow, silent except for the cream female's whines that she can't help but make.

Featherpaw turns to face the rest of his family. "I need both of you gone as well."

Reedrush balks."What?" he cries. "I can't leave my mate!"

"As leader, I'm allowed to reserve my rank and use it to observe. I kitted both of you two, didn't I? A little blood and excess fluid isn't going to scare me," is Shallowstar's blunt retort.

"Both of you are stressing me out," Featherpaw explains icily, trying to keep his attention on Daisybird who is trying to toss and turn in her nest, seeking much needed comfort. "And the stress is not good for me or for Daisybird. Both of you need to leave."

Shallowstar's strict posture falls marginally, her acceptance of her youngest's decision showing in a subtle glow of her green eyes. Reedrush still looks quite tense and rather mad about the situation.

"I can't leave you alone with her!" he protests, lashing his tail frequently for emphasis of his willingness to stay right by his mate's side as she gives birth. "What if you feed her something and she dies?"

Featherpaw snorts. "I won't let that happen. Clearwater was my former mentor, I should hope I know what each herb does. None of them I have with me will cause her distress. Now, listen to me and leave. Last warning before I get Mother to drag your hide out of here."

As the threat is made, Reedrush frantically tosses his head over to the side to look at his gray furred mother.

The female leader nods. "It's best to leave them alone for now. Daisybird is in a lot of pain and as much as you think she needs you, you will only make this more difficult for Featherpaw. Respect his decisions as you would a true medicine cat and we'll leave the den together."

The larger black tom scoffs, ducking his head in a motion somewhat akin to embarrassment. "Fine," he begrudgingly meows, casting one last, sorrowful look at his mate before turning himself to face the nursery exit with Shallowstar.

"Wait!" Featherpaw barks in surprise, coming to a sudden realization.

Shallowstar and Reedrush halt, turning their heads over their shoulders to look back in expectancy.

"I need an assistant. Someone fetch Brownpelt for me."

Reedrush's facial features crinkle in a frown of displeasure. "So you'll allow _Brownpelt_ but not me or mother? What happened to family first?" Featherpaw can tell he's bitter. Not just because of lack of trust in family, but because Featherpaw chose a _half-Clan_ cat over a pure blooded one.

"Family is annoying when is gets in the way of work," Featherpaw insists, trying to tread carefully. "Someone fetch Brownpelt. He's in the medicine den. Aside from myself, he's the best non-medicine cat we have in this Clan."

The small tomcat can hear the disdainful snort as Reedrush leaves, trailing after Shallowstar with quick steps. He releases his own tired sort of sigh, hoping Reedrush has the sensibility to listen to not only his leader, but his mother, and complete the task asked of him.

His thoughts are dragged away from him when the female in front of him wails, loud and hurting.

"It's all right, Daisybird," he tries to calm her, speaking in a soft voice near her head.

Her huge swollen belly ripples as she breathes, rounded figure plastered on her side as she pants and whines. She's only just started labor and unfortunately, Featherpaw knows it's going to get worse. Gazing back and forth at the queen, the tom divides his time between observing Daisybird and sorting out his assorted herbs. He paws at some of the leaves, separating borage, _for milk supply if it's too low_ , he reminds himself, from the rest of the pile. Next is the feverfew, _for chills, fevers, irregular body temperatures._

He doesn't have much longer to remind himself of the functions of his herb collection before Daisybird coughs hoarsely.

"Water," she rasps, her eyes clenched shut.

Of course! Water!

How could he be so stupid?

"I can't leave you alone, Daisybird," Featherpaw grimaces, placing a paw on her bulging flank, embracing the feeling of little ripples and movement. "Clearwater said always one cat should be with the birthing queen. A queen left alone whilst kitting, even for a minute, is dangerous. Too many things can happen in a sole minute. I can't risk that. Not if I want my tail chewed off. "The last part he mutters to himself, knowing full well that Reedrush would do more than chew off his tail if something bad happened to Daisybird on his watch.

There's a cough behind him. Not raspy and dry - more of the quick and sharp clearing of a throat.

"Reedrush wouldn't take no for an answer. Said you ordered me to be here."

A tentative brown feline is creeping around the front of the nursery, acting as if it was his first time outside of his den.

Oh wait.

It is.

"Brownpelt! Thank the -" Featherpaw turns around swiftly, catching himself with a frown as he thinks of how he was going to finish that sentence.

 _Thank the stars._

 _Thank them for what? Ruining my life?_

"Thank whatever, I'm just glad you're here," the ex-medicine cat shakes his head, jumping back to the immediate task at paw. "Daisybird needs water and I can't leave her alone for even a minute until after the kits are born. There's some moss back in the den and that little stream behind it. Please hurry." He whips back around to attend his patient, giving a tiny sigh of relief when he hears the sound of paws scuffling immediately out of the den, most likely back toward the medicine den.

"Water," Daisybird, deliriously asking for the watery moss, whimpers as much as a cat cat when their throat sounds raw and used. Continuing her onslaught of agonizing cries, the creamy she-cat struggles to roll to her other side, her heavy belly causing some problems on the way over.

"Hold on for a little bit longer," Featherpaw responds, trying his best to sympathize with the queen in labor but knows emotions are not his strong point.

"I'm back!" Brownpelt announces, sending a shiver of relief down Featherpaw's spine as the brown cat advances close. He prances over, dropping the soaking moss by Daisybird's muzzle. "Here," he says with a nurturing smile, ever the soft-hearted one. "I've got you some water to tide you over for a while. Lap it up, you'll need your strength."

No one has to tell the cream cat twice before she's bent her head forward, straining in her nest as she reaches for the wet moss. Her pale pink tongue laps tirelessly at her source of water, draining the clump for all it holds.

"This stick will help you when the kits start to come out," Featherpaw adds helpfully, nudging the brittle wood toward the she-cat's face for whenever she needs to use it.

Still lapping at the moss, she slow blinks her response and the ex-medicine cat accepts it and moves a few steps back.

"Now what?" Brownpelt steps back with him, sitting beside the black tom whose tucking his tail around his paws in a regal posture. The ruddy tomcat copies his position, coiling a thicker tail around his own, rather large paws. Being a warrior, he looks down a little on the apprentice, a good head taller in size. Beside him, Featherpaw looks lanky and small, decently fatigued from his rude awakening a while ago.

"Now we wait," is Featherpaw's voidless reply, his blue eyes calmly fixated on the water drinking Daisybird. "She's only just started. Her labor cycle is scheduled to end, at the latest, dawn. It should be a while before the first kit starts causing problems. For now she just needs a constant supply of water and a constant watch to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"Hmm," Brownpelt nods in agreement, following the apprentice's example and keeping a close eye on Daisybird. He finally opens his mouth after a few minutes passing. "Why'd you call for me?"

He watches as the black cat's eyes close, watching as the young tom washes away into the darkness. "I can't do this alone," he hears the admission of shame. He chuckles, "Well yeah, I wouldn't want to be alone in this situation either. I meant, why did you specifically ask for me?"

Featherpaw scoffs a little, his noise of disdain. "Do you know of anyone else who's spent the most time around herbs? If Clearwater's gone, apparently I'm next in line - she hasn't taken another apprentice - and I can't do this alone so I needed an assistant. You've been in the medicine den since forever it seems, you've seen us mill about the den. You're familiar with some herbs and unlike your brother, you've actually accepted my apology and I can work alongside you without complaint."

"Wait," Brownpelt stalls, turning his gaze away from Daisybird and staring wide-eyed down at Featherpaw. "Nutfur hasn't accepted your apology yet?"

A shake of the other's head. "I did as you instructed. I gave him an immediate apology so that we could reevaluate our bond. As soon as we were named apprentice and mentor, I recited my apology. Outright, he refused to accept it. He claimed I didn't mean it."

"Did you?" Brownpelt blinks at him, making eye contact when the 'paw glances upward.

Featherpaw fixes him with a bored looking stare. "Do you really think I didn't care about solidifying our bond? If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have any inclination to share a proper bond with Nutfur. Since I do have an inclination to share a proper bond with your brother, I meant it. He just doesn't seem to think so."

"So how's training going then?" Brownpelt prompts carefully, testing the water. If Nutfur hasn't accepted Featherpaw's apology, then perhaps training with each other is a complete nightmare. He hopes not.

"Decently well," supplies Featherpaw, casually glancing away again while Daisybird laps on and on with her bundle of damp moss. "I suppose any new apprentice and mentor trying to work together is a rough starting experience. Ours is no different. We have several bumps to cross but I imagine things to soon work themselves out in the end."

"Hopefully," murmurs the ruddy brown warrior, ducking his head a little.

"More water," Daisybird coughs, flicking away the used moss with one of her paws.

Brownpelt is immediately on his feet before Featherpaw can say anything. He darts close to the she-cat, plucks up the scraggy piece of plant material, and bounds back out through the entrance with the quickness of a minnow in the pond.

Meanwhile, the black tom in charge quickly runs to the ailing queen's side, instantly concerned with the health of the kits and places a tentative paw on her flank. He's content with the soft ripples until the female suddenly screams - the loudest she had since the start of her labor. She contracts in the next moment, curling in on herself as much as she can with another expressive wail. Daisybird's letting out heaving breaths, curt and ragged, sore and scratchy. Her muscles are contracting and releasing, tensing and relaxing. Her facial features are crinkling in pain, teeth peeking out from her parted maw while her eyes clench tight.

"Nnnnggghaa!" is her unintelligible cry.

"Stay calm, stay calm. Bite the stick," Featherpaw pushes the piece of wood close, grateful that the queen instantly snatches it up and grips it tight in her bright ivories. When she experiences another harsh pulse, Daisybird shrieks through the wood and writhes in the nest, tossing and turning furiously.

"What's going on in there?" bellows a voice from outside - Reedrush. "Daisybird, I'll help you!"

"Stay out, Reedrush!" Featherpaw yowls back, keeping close to his brother's mate. He grunts in frustration as Daisybird, in her birthing haze, refuses to work with his motions and continues to thrash around as best she can in the confining nest. He growls, trying to keep the mass contained. "Darn it, Brownpelt. Where are you?"

Stressful minutes pass as Featherpaw manages to keep the cream furred female on one side, resting a paw on her for calming physical contact while her mate panics outside only a few fox lengths away. She wails. She cries. She whines. She howls. She roars. She shrieks.

Outside, Reedrush is undoubtedly upset but to Featherpaw's relief, he makes no motion to invade on his space.

Daisybird keeps convulsing. Her grunts are strained and frequent. She's encouraged to bite down on the stick, which she does quite promptly, and endure the intensity of her labor until the arrival of her kittens. She's grateful to have Featherpaw so close with a relentless touch. She scrunches down in the nest, writhing again with minute motions as her swollen flanks contract. There's a catch in her throat before she starts hyperventilating. She struggling to push, her hindquarters inflamed.

"Brownpelt!" Featherpaw shrieks in a rush of panic, rivalling the queen's muffled screams.

As if on cue, the rugged tom crashes inside, his hazel eyes propped open wide in horror as the moss falls helplessly from his slack maw. He manages to shake from his terror stricken state and halts at the side of Featherpaw whose own blue eyes are blown wide as well.

"What's going on?" Brownpelt demands.

Featherpaw remains horrified. "She's kitting, fishface!"

"So?" Brownpelt scoffs, aghast as he sprints back to retrieve the sopping moss that he left by the entrance. "You were so calm a few minutes ago. You were a medicine cat, you've done this before."

"I have _not_ done this before!" Featherpaw admits in a shrill wail, acting scandalized by the mere idea of doing such.

"What?"

"There were no queens in the nursery besides Daisybird when I was Clearwater's apprentice!" the black tom explains hurriedly, speaking around the cries of the convulsing she-act. "I've never witnessed a queen's labor. I only heard stories of it from Clearwater!"

If Brownpelt could slap himself, he would. Instead, he closes his eyes and deeply sighs over the noises created by Daisybird. "Well, there's no use complaining now. We have to help her. Do whatever Clearwater said she did!"

Daisybird yowls, another ear-splitting cry even through the wood which starts to crack under the pressure.

The air is hot and sticky with the overbearing scent and sweat. The nursery is airily damp which makes it rather uncomfortable, even with only three cats in the den at the time. Each is straining in the suddenly cramped environment, feverently working at their task to ensure the successful birth of an exhausted queen.

Brownpelt, under orders of Featherpaw, has his paws on Daisybird's flanks, pushing against her flanks with every groaning push that the female gives. Featherpaw seats himself at the rear, preparing to help the kit's final obstacle, his pose ready to pounce and nip away the confining sack it will no doubt possess. There's a massive twitch of the female, an agonizing cry that's suddenly cut off when she clamps down even harder on the stick. Brownpelt presses down to help, and with a shrill keen, a sticky bundle plops out and flounders helplessly in the frayed moss bedding.

The black tom jumps to action and nips open the sack to allow proper breathing, revealing a tiny black kitten no bigger than the apprentice's paw. Featherpaw ducks his head, crouching down behind the miniscule source of new life and recites the instructions Clearwater had given on helping a newborn kit survive.

The first step was to take care of the sack.

The second step was to lick the fur the wrong way for warmth.

Whilst the nursery is hot and thick, laden with the wafting scent of birth, the outside air is undoubtedly cold as with each passing of the sunset, the days are approaching the chillier times.

Featherpaw rasps his rosy pink tongue over the kitten's pelt, subconsciously enclosing his entire body around the tiny scrap of fur whose eyes are far from opening.

Close to him, Featherpaw can hear the queen relax marginally. Her first born is a seemingly healthy she-cat with a stark black pelt - a spitting image of Reedrush if she happens to carry his genetic trait for green eyes. By the queen's breathing, it's obvious the she-kit isn't the only kitten and still in her body is at least one more. But with the relapse, it will take a fair amount of time before Daisybird has enough strength to push hard enough to birth another kit.

Daisybird doesn't ask to see her newborn so the tiny female stays in close quarters with Featherpaw and cuddles into the tom's belly fur, searching instinctively for something to suckle on, much to the apprentice's puzzlement.

"She's nuzzling my belly," Featherpaw announces warily, tilting his head, his slack face the epitome of confused innocence as he looks at Brownpelt for guidance.

To his surprise, the ruddy tomcat laughs with his head thrown back. Much like Sunpath would when the golden warrior found something humorous about an emotionally conflicted Featherpaw. Brownpelt's hazel eyes twinkle with mirth. "Oh, Featherpaw. Do you really know nothing of kits? Or she-cats in general?"

The black cat frowns in response. "I don't know of which you refer to. I know kits. I know she-cats."

"Kits suckle," Brownpelt giggles childishly, carefully abandoning Daisybird's side as he comes to collect the she-kit. "She's searching for milk that you don't have. How do you not know this?" He's still mildly snickering, helping the unnamed kitten to her mother's belly where she instantly latches on.

With every word, Featherpaw finds himself flushing with heat of embarrassment. Surely he did know this. These thoughts just never connected while he was thinking of the kitten's mindless actions. "Whatever," he huffs, a bit out of character considering his stoic, void persona. Unlike Brownpelt, Featherpaw is no kit at heart.

Featherpaw returns to his task.

The wind whispers as the night drags on. The ex-medicine cat apprentice and warrior cling to the desperately panting, birthing queen.

Between her first and second kit - another pretty black female - Daisybird had demanded, throatily, another moss bundle of water. Tired but willing, Brownpelt had scurried off under orders and returned with the queen's desire.

Between her second and third - a slightly bigger, husky cinnamon male - Daisybird had splintered the stick into several different pieces and demanded another one to help through her, hopefully, final kit.

The last one that tumbles out in a wet, sticky mass and lands in the partially shredded moss is another small blackish female - sadly resembling more of Reedrush than his mate. At the end, all four kittens are being nudged close to their mother's belly, courtesy of the apprentice and warrior who wait out the aftershocks of the labor.

"Nice work, Featherpaw," Brownpelt praises softly with a lopsided grin, casually observing the strained queen snuggle up next to her children and slowly drift into the depths of sleep. "Congratulations on your first successful birth."

"You realize how wrong that sounds," Featherpaw deadpans, sulking with a frown, his shoulders hunched and laden with the stress still weighing down upon him.

"Yeah, but you know what I mean," Brownpelt rolls his eyes, showing teeth in a grin. "Your assistance in delivering kittens from a pregnant queen. Congratulations. Clearwater would be proud. You'd make a fine medicine cat."

Something in Featherpaw's core winces at the praise. Unintentional or not, Brownpelt's words are striking in the wrong way. His mind, hazy from the recent events, ponders the potential. What if he did go back to being a medicine cat? Shallowstar and the rest of his family would be enraged, not to mention his mentor who, despite first impressions, actually seems to care about Featherpaw's future as a warrior. But Clearwater would be elated. No doubt, she would enjoy having an apprentice back. Her apprentice.

The black tom shudders out a weary sigh.

Brownpelt takes note.

"You've been up all night," he says in observation, hearing a grunt in response. "I can watch over Daisybird and make sure everything goes well."

"You wouldn't know what to look for," Featherpaw protests with a yawn. "Besides, I'm not tired."

"Ok, ok, you're not tired," amusedly, Brownpelt smiles, his voice velvet and silk. "But it won't matter if you watch from laying down, will it?"

Featherpaw's muzzle wrinkles as he thinks. "I suppose not," he relents, stretching out with a sore moan as he slides down onto his belly and sprawls out rather comfortably on the nursery floor. Once he hits the floor, the poor 'paw comes to realization upon how exhausted he really is. However, in the battle between his conscious mind, the idea of sleep wins out and his eyelids, heavy with the thoughts of a soft nest, sink shut. He lets out another little groan, coming to agreement with his inner desires. "Watch the kits," the tomcat slurs - his last words before darkness sweeps over his thoughts and actions.

"Of course."

* * *

"Please let him sleep, Clearwater," a breathy voice speaks upon the she-cat's entrance into the nursery, dawn light spilling over her tabby pelt.

She tilts her head up in mild surprise, identifying the rugged, shaggy shape as Brownpelt. She cocks her head to the ground, blinking widely at the sight of her former apprentice sprawled out on the earth, snoring rather innocently. The sight causes her heart to swell with a sort of pride and adoration.

"Not to worry," Clearwater purrs, her voice quiet to accommodate not only Featherpaw, but the slumbering queen in her nest with four kits. "He looks positively exhausted. Shallowstar gave me a few details - he was ordered by Reedrush to help Daisybird in her troubled times when I wasn't available to. It's a very noble task. I'm proud of him. You also stayed?"

"Mmhmm," Brownpelt ducks his head in a brief nod. "He said he needed an assistant. He said I was the most medicinally skilled cat besides himself and you who could help with Daisybird."

The tabby's lip curls up. "That's high praise coming from that stubborn furball." She giggles tenderly. "When he was still my apprentice, I could tell he valued his own opinions before others'. He's grown a lot emotionally since then. Nutfur must be training him well."

"Nutfur's a great brother and a great mentor," the dark brown male reassures her theories.

"I'm sure he is," Clearwater agrees. "I'm going to check on Daisybird now. I'll be quiet enough to not wake up Featherpaw. Feel free to go back to your nest and sleep. If you've been up all night with him, you deserve your own tranquility. Back to your nest with you."

"Thank you, Clearwater."

And Brownpelt saunters off.

* * *

 _A/N:  
_

 _Wow, I didn't actually mean for this chapter to be that long. Not that you guys will complain, but I will tell you that this chapter, story content wise, is over 5,000 words. Compared to my usual 2,500 - 3,000? This is a bit of a jump. And I don't mind honestly. I think this turned out pretty well._

 _Also we've hit 70 reviews so that's amazing! I forgot to mention the 50 milestone, but 70's better in my opinion. XD. Thanks so much guys for your repeated support! I love you all!_

 _ **Bright Mind :** It's downright adorable! :3 _

_If you're legitimately asking about Frogjaw's 'training sessions' and Nutfur's, Featherpaw never really experienced them. He was around for some kitten fights but when he chose to be a medicine cat, he got out of the brutal lessons because at this early point, his parents didn't quite care about his success. Nutfur's training is a little brutal, only because he doesn't like Featherpaw as a respectable cat and doesn't like how much of a snot the little guy is. Featherpaw taunts and teases and as a result, Nutfur's training gets a little unorthodox._

 _ **Cloudjumper Kat :** totallyfrickinhappyyoustartedthestoryandimgladyoulikeitsomuchpleasekeepreading~_

 _But in all seriousness, I'm seriously glad to know what your thoughts are on this story. I'm so in love with your little character analysis as you explore each cat so far. Once you reach this far, I'm sure you'll be seriously invested. c:_

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** You are correct indeed. Featherpaw's his first apprentice, Nutfur's bound to be awkward and unsure of how to pursue. Nutfur acts on impulse and instinct. His mentoring style will be an interesting thing to follow. _

_QotC: There's technically two questions here. One is a general question regarding Daisybird's newborns. I'm pretty solid on names for them as of now, but if I were to consider your guys' opinions, what would you name them? And the other, what are your thoughts on the relationship between Featherpaw and Brownpelt?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	21. Realization

"Realization"

* * *

"Nutfur, I must deeply apologize for my actions today. I know it was not in my place to take the name of medicine cat for a night and I was unaware I had slept all of the day away. Whatever punishment you decree, I will accept willingly because I deserve it."

The epitome of submission, Featherpaw bows his head to his mentor. He hunches his shoulders, bent at the elbows to crouch down closer to the ground. There's a little shiver to his body, his whole pelt bristled with trepidation while barely suppressed fear scent rolls off him in waves.

"No, no, it's fine," Nutfur quickly runs to his apprentice's defense, severely disliking the scent the poor scrap is giving off. At this point, he much prefers the snarky and rude Featherpaw to this shriveling mass of black fur. "Clearwater talked to me. Apparently you were up all night delivering kittens. You deserved some rest after that. Tell ya the truth, I'm a little tired now. I'ma head to my nest, you can go back to sleep and we'll start back up with training in the morning." He awkwardly shuffles his paws, still not quite used to being in close proximity with the very cat he claims to loathe. "Stand up straight," he orders with a little forced grin, trying to get the little 'paw to warm up. "Knock off that submissive act and head to your nest. I'll see you in the morning."

Without waiting to see if Featherpaw actually complies with his suggestions, Nutfur pads off in silence aside from the scuffle of the dirt he kicks around with every step on the way to the warrior's den. He shakes out his little bobtail before slipping inside the den, relishing in the familiarity of the reeds gently nuzzling his sides. It's an odd stimulation that sends shivers down his spine, but Nutfur finds comfort in the everyday feeling.

The warrior steps around the vacant nests, steering clear of the nests already taken by their feline hosts. He prances around until he finds his own claimed parcel of plant material. A little lump of moss near the edge in the back where it gets the coldest. Being such a young warrior, it's custom for the juveniles to take the outskirts and work their way up to earning a position in the cozy center. With spots reserved for the seniority like Lashtail and Frogjaw and Rainsong. Being the better older brother, Nutfur offered his spot to Brownpelt when the youngest warrior first came into the den for a spot and Nutfur decided to take the furthest edge once again. All for the sake of his younger.

Except, Brownpelt was scarce in the warrior's den as of late. He was most often seen scuttling a few feet out from the medicine den and quickly scurrying back in.

And to the grand surprise of everyone - not really - Brownpelt is not in the den.

 _Whatever,_ Nutfur snorts disdainfully, curling up in his own shriveled and cold nest. _He can do whatever he wants. Words from the tomcat himself, 'Now that I'm a warrior, I can take care of myself'._

Had he been born with a longer tail, the young warrior would have tucked it around himself, hollowing himself in a thin cocoon of his own fur. However, with a bobtail, that became nothing more than a painful dream, but he still toughs it out and nestles deep into the coarse bedding. As he closes his eyes, he casually thinks perhaps he should've asked Clearwater for some poppy seeds to help him sleep dreamlessly. But before he can act against falling asleep now, the overexerted tomcat is lulled to sleep within seconds.

It's not a surprise that he dreams.

With his lack of snacking on poppy seeds before nightfall, Nutfur practically expects his troubled mind to be a whirl of thoughts that are soon to materialize into that hazy dreamscape.

He expects the dream.

He doesn't expect the dream's topic.

"Hello?" he calls to the void, surrounded by a thick mist that wafts in huge bursts, hiding any source of life that might lay beyond. He squints his emerald eyes, widening them at the sight of a pair of glowing ambers in the distance. "Hello?" he repeats, surprised.

There's a little laugh. Like the chime of a bell. "Hello to you too, Nutfur."

"You know my name," Nutfur frowns, approaching the source of the chipper voice.

In equal standpoint, the amber eyes start to move closer through the veil of fog. They soon get close enough for Nutfur to make out the silhouette of another cat. Thick furred, well fit. He doesn't get the color until the female steps into the light formed by an unknown source.

"Of course I do - you're the talk of the trees." The she-cat's a well built orange tabby with twinkling amber eyes to match. Visually stunning at first glance, but something about her grin sets the pale warrior on edge.

"I thought StarClan cats only speak to medicine cats and leaders," Nutfur pushes the conversation further, the threat level low but there's enough of a spark to keep him on his feet instead of sitting and letting the mist cocoon him.

"You assume I am a StarClan cat?" the female amusedly purrs, a mischievous lilt in her tone of voice.

Nutfur's facial features contort into something vaguely akin to fear and the she-cat laughs again, shrill and on the verge of annoyance.

"Yes, yes, child," the tabby reassures him, smiling broadly. "I am indeed a StarClan cat. I don't suppose you recall my name? I existed not too long ago."

Nutfur searches his memory for someone he knew that bore that orange coat. Perhaps someone from one of the other Clans. "Orangefur?" he tries. "Ambereyes?"

The she-cat giggles. "I guess I shouldn't have expected a big turnout. I was RiverClan's medicine cat before Clearwater. I don't know if you remember me."

"Russetburr!" Nutfur exclaims in recognition. "Oh I'm so fish-brained! How could I forget RiverClan's best medicine cat? Sorry, I just never hung around you as a kitten. I knew you existed, I just never had a reason to visit or talk to you."

"Tis all right, young one, I was not exactly favored by the young kits. It was the apprentices who barged into my den demanding ointments for the cuts and scrapes." The pretty female chuckles warmly, her soft fur relaxed and calm. She opens her eyes again for Nutfur to see - bright and gleaming like little fireflies in the depths of the drifting fog.

"So," Nutfur drawls, breaking through the silence that the pair had created since Russetburr's child-like outburst of noise. "The whole leader and medicine cat thing - why talk to me? You said I'm the talk of the trees?"

"To some of us yes, you are the talk of the trees," Russetburr wanders around, light on her paws as she aims to circle the warrior in a wide arc. "You, your brother, and your bothersome apprentice."

"If you're here to imply something's wrong with my brother. . ." Nutfur begins, his voice bordering on a growl as his hackles start to form on his spine fur.

Russetburr cuts him off before he can start his threat. "Oh no, there's nothing wrong with Brownpelt. I mean, aside from him being a half-Clan cat, nothing's too wrong with him. He has a devoted older brother and he thinks he's found a potential life partner to settle down with. Quite normal with all things considered. No, no, I'm here to talk with you about someone else.

"Featherpaw?" the warrior voices his thoughts, thinking back to Russetburr's cold words: _"and your bothersome apprentice"._

"Mmm," the StarClan cat nods solemnly, circling Nutfur casually. "Lot of things wrong with him. Would have already been named a full medicine cat if he hadn't decided to make a mess of his destiny."

"You mean he was supposed to be a medicine cat all along?" Nutfur follows the she-cat with his eyes, turning his head occasionally when she walks behind him. He can't help but feel a little tug of pain thinking about the little 'paw. All of these good bonding moments the two were sharing. . . they were fake? Featherpaw wasn't supposed to learn how to swim, learn how to fight properly, learn how to smile?

"That was his destiny," Russetburr sighs loudly. "He was meant to carry the RiverClan medicine cat legacy with prosperity. But I suppose it couldn't have been helped." She shrugs. "Half-Clan cats naturally betray their destiny."

Nutfur takes a second to process the former medicine cat's aloof words. His maw is slack while thinking before it suddenly clamps with realization. He startles, "Wait! Featherpaw's a half-Clan cat?"

Feigning surprise, Russetburr gasps. "Uh-oh, did I spoil the surprise?" She giggles, but this time it's noticeably more darker - a giggle with a sinister edge.

"Yes," she lilts, positively giddy. "Your little brat of an apprentice is indeed a half-Clan cat!" She gives a little bounce, smiling bigger, if that was even possible, which sends another unnerving shudder down Nutfur's spine.

"I don't believe you," Nutfur snorts, flattening his ears against his cranium, enunciating his words with a hard swish of his stumpy tail. "Shallowstar and Frogjaw are pure blooded RiverClan cats who raised perfect warriors aside from their youngest rebellious son. But now he's back to being a warrior and they're more or less content parents."

"It's not just Featherpaw," Russetburr's still grinning - like the cat who swallowed the canary - her smile full of glimmering teeth. "Shybee and Redbriar are also half-Clan. Shallowstar's entire second litter is tainted with ThunderClan blood."

"I didn't think StarClan cats lied," the pale warrior insists, grounding himself in the fluid dreamscape floor, burying his claws in the soft soil.

"We don't," the orange tabby sniffs pointedly, lifting her muzzle up snootily. "We prophesize the truth and nothing less."

"How do you know?"

"Because we know everything, sweetpea," the tabby croons, finishing her third circle and coming to a halt in front of the dreaming warrior. "I know that Shallowstar's second litter are half-Clan in the same way that I know that Featherpaw loves you."

At this, Nutfur flinches. "He does not. He hates me. And I hate him."

 _Ok, that's not the whole truth. His attitude has gotten better and he's more manageable than he was as a medicine cat apprentice. At this point, he's pretty likeable._

"Oh but I think he does," Russetburr creeps closer, head lowered, resuming her stalking in a circle pattern around the weary warrior. "Perhaps you haven't been looking as close as I have. Watching his actions, listening to his words."

Before Nutfur can chime in that, _'that's creepy',_ Russetburr purrs, "Haven't you ever actually looked at him? The way he acts around you? Just earlier you saw him. You saw how submissive he was to you - the way that delicious fear scent of his wafted from his frail body. Tell me, when's the last time you've ever seen that cat go belly up for anyone? Hmm? Surely not his parents, he rebelled against them. He tolerated Clearwater but she never bossed him around and he was sure to not let that happen regardless. He never lets his siblings walk all over him - positively snapped at Reedrush only yesterday when those kits were born. He's snapped at you too, I've seen, but progressively, that cat has gotten more soft, haven't you noticed? That poor scrap was so terrified of whatever punishment you were going to give him for skipping training, that he was ready and willing to turn over and show you his pudge of a belly."

"His belly isn't pudgy," Nutfur says quickly without a filter and instantly regrets it.

Russetburr lights up in glee, her smile downright predatory. "And how would you know?"

Nutfur glances away. No way was he going to tell her that when they were training sometime in the past few sunsets, the warrior had knocked the smaller cat on his back several times, revealing the albeit fluffy, but still slender stomach area of the young tom.

"That's not important," he meows instead, tone clipped, avoiding eye contact. "What's important is your story on why you think Featherpaw and his littermates are half-Clan."

Russetburr smirks. "I don't think, I _know._ "

Nutfur resists the temptation to roll his eyes. "Fine," he plays along. "How do you _know_ that Shallowstar's second litter are all half-Clan?"

"Because I was there."

"Huh?"

"Follow me."

The orange tabby shape coiling around Nutfur like a serpent on the prowl suddenly bolts into the mist, her tail a beacon of stark color as she runs away. She laughs as she runs, a ringing bell in the distance before the fog swallows her whole, the noise of her paws essentially nonexistent.

After a moment to comprehend, Nutfur chases after like a WindClan warrior pursuing a rabbit. Within seconds, he can see that bright orange tail once more, knowing he's on the right trail. His sprinting starts to fade, his slowed motions carrying him a few paces behind the ever swift StarClan cat. Up ahead in front of the warrior, the foggy terrain opens from the sides, allowing sight of a dark, thick copse of trees and copious amounts of sheltered undergrowth.

Russetburr darts into the brush without batting a whisker, clearly expecting Nutfur to follow.

He does so diligently, throwing himself under the dense foliage. He screams in terror after tripping, heading en route to a thicket of sharp looking thorns. His yelp fades on his tongue after he passes right through it. He looks up in confusion, spotting a bored looking Russetburr rolling her amber eyes and gesturing with her head where they need to go before sprinting off again.

 _Oh right,_ Nutfur reminds himself, gathering his bearings and chasing after the dead feline. _Dream. Can't get hurt by real world territory._

"So where are we?" the warrior prompts as he slides up to Russetburr's side where she stops suddenly outside another dense thicket of broad leaves.

"ThunderClan's camp. I've come to show you my proof."

The StarClan walks through the leaves as if they weren't there in the first palace. Eager to seek out this so called evidence, Nutfur is right on her heels the entire way as they step into dappled patches of light in a dusky clearing of soil. The female seats herself right smack in the center, curling her tail around her paws to protect a dainty image of herself. Nutfur plops himself beside her, glancing around curiously.

"Who are we looking for?"

"Him," Russetburr stares straight ahead, amber eyes locked onto the pair of two older, most likely senior, warriors who are engrossed in serious conversation. They've tucked themselves against the far wall, talking in low tones over a meal of squirrel for one and a vole for the other.

One is a mottled brown tom with amber eyes.

The other is a reddish tabby tom with white markings and green eyes that suspiciously resembles the reddish-brown hue of Redbriar and Shybee.

"Which one?"

Russetburr snorts, nose wrinkling. "You know very well which one. Use your intellect, young one. Which one of those two could possibly carry the genes that Shallowstar's second litter possesses?"

"The reddish one," Nutfur admits finally with a small sigh, hoping he's wrong. "Redbriar is reddish and Shybee is a reddish brown tabby. There isn't a red cat in their lineage."

"Correct," an overly smug female preens. "Cedarstripe is that cat you're looking at. Would you care to hear the story?"

Nutfur bobs his head, not overly eager but still mildly curious as to the backstory behind everything in his life that he thought was true.

Russetburr turns to face him, pressing her nose gently to the warrior's forehead. He recoils a bit at the touch and shuts his eyes at the sight of white flash. When he opens them, he's no longer in ThunderClan's camp clearing.

 _His eyes are open, staring straight ahead at a panicked looking gray and white she-cat. Her pelt is matted and dirty - one would hardly think she was the prosperous deputy of RiverClan._

 _"Russetburr!" the female speaks to him, and Nutfur realizes he's not himself in this scenario._

 _A memory through Russetburr's eyes._

 _"Russetburr you've got to help me!"_

 _"Hush child, you'll wake the camp and everyone the edge of Highstones. What troubles you?" Nutfur speaks involuntarily, with Russetburr's voice escaping his open maw._

 _Shallowstar - no - Shallowfern stands in front of the medicine cat, panting and breathing distorted. "It hurts, oh StarClan it hurts." She has tear stains down the sides of her cheeks, dried but freshening with her newest bout of emotions wracking her soiled body._

 _"Your kits?" Russetburr speaks and Nutfur sees the swelling of Shallowfern's large belly that hangs below her. "They're not coming. They shouldn't. Not until at least another half-moon. Have you talked to Frogjaw?"_

 _"I can't speak to Frogjaw!" Shallowfern sniffles, teary-eyed._

 _"Then what ails you, if not the kits?" Russetburr asks calmly._

 _Shallowfern's voice drops. "They're not his. Frogjaw's. This litter isn't his..."_

 _Russetburr blinks and Nutfur watches the scene through the medicine cat's eyes darken for a millisecond before brightening again. "You've moved on to another mate without telling him?"_

 _"No," the gray deputy shakes her head furiously. "Frogjaw and I are still together. But he doesn't know what happened two moons ago."_

 _"And what happened two moons ago?" the orange tabby meows, suspiciously._

 _"Sunningrocks. They were ours at the time. I took a peaceful break on the rocks to bathe in the sun. I was jumped. ThunderClan. Violated. Corrupted. Having his kits..." Shallowfern trails off with a whiny sob._

 _Russetburr scowls. "Do you remember a name, Shallowfern? What's the name of the ThunderClanner?"_

 _"Promise not to tell Frogjaw," Shallowstar demands, a kind of fierceness in her eyes even through the tears._

 _"I promise," the medicine cat swears and she means it._

 _"Cedarstripe. It was Cedarstripe."_

 _Russetburr blinks again, slow. When her eyes open again, the memory fades._

Still in the dream, Nutfur blinks away the remains of the memory he was influenced by.

"Ok," he says breathlessly. "I believe you. That second litter of Shallowstar's is half-Clan."

"Of course they are, I delivered them myself," the orange tabby snorts haughtily.

"So what happened?" he dares to ask, voice quiet even though Russetburr is the only one who can hear him.

"Not much," the she-cat has the audacity to shrug in nonchalance. "I kept her promise, I never told Frogjaw nor did I tell anyone else while I was living. When she had the kits, everyone knew she and Frogjaw were still together. She just let him believe the kits were his. They grew up normal. Mostly." At this, the StarClan warrior snickers, implying Featherpaw no doubt. "Cedarstripe's harmful act had not affected him. I saw him around after the birth of Shallowfern's kits. He acted normal. His crime against Shallowfern went unnoticed. It was his act of power over RiverClan and she-cats in general. I wanted to dig my claws into his throat but as a medicine cat, I did have standards. As you can see, he still lives. Crude foxheart. Her secret died with me. It still rests among the living between her, Cedarstripe, and now you."

"So what am I supposed to do with this information?" Nutfur asks, genuinely questioning the StarClan cat. _Isn't this a sort of thing she would tell Featherpaw? Or any of Shallowstar's family?_

"Whatever you'd prefer," Russetburr shrugs amiably. "I was told not to tell Frogjaw. And I haven't. That doesn't stop you from doing whatever you'd like."

"But wasn't there a point to knowing this story?" Nutfur tilts his head a little as he speaks in confusion.

"Oh yes!" Russetburr exclaims, giddy once more. "At this point, it would be wise to kill Shallowstar's second litter."

"Wai-what?" the pale warrior balks, maw slack in surprise. "Kill Shallowstar's kin? She'd kill me before I laid a claw on her children. More to the other point, your moral of your story was that I should kill another cat?"

"Three cats specifically," Russetburr corrects. "Though," she ponders. "If you're uncomfortable with all three, just kill one. Preferably Featherpaw. He's always been a bit of a brat. No one will miss him."

"Why?"

"Weren't you listening? He's a br - Oh, you mean why kill all of them in general," the tabby swishes her tail fluidly. "Ah, well that's simple." She grins, showing her little fangs. "They're half-Clan. A scourge. They should be killed off."

"Half-Clan cats aren't a scourge!" Nutfur snaps, fuse blown at her wishy-washy tone of describing cats like his brother. "Brownpelt is a fully functioning warrior of RiverClan! He worked hard to earn his warrior name and I couldn't be more proud! In a few moons, Featherpaw, my apprentice, will earn his warrior name. Not because he's half-Clan, but because he earned it!"

 _Wake up, wake up, wake up!_

"I don't like the way you talk about cats who are different from you." Nutfur arches his spine, baring his teeth in fury. "Half-Clan or not, they're still members of RiverClan and I intend to keep it that way!"

 _Wake up, wake up, wake up!_

Russetburr blinks, mildly amused. "Well," she meows. "I can see there's no convincing you. Real shame. I guess I should be on my way. Bye then."

Gasping, Nutfur thrashes awake, drenched in a cold sweat.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Wow. That certainly was a roller coaster. So much information. What will you all do with it? XD_

 _80 review milestone! I love you all!_

 _ **BrightMind :**_ _Indeed. Reedrush is a character, at first glance, who you're not quite sure of. From Featherpaw's viewpoint, Reedrush was like any of his other siblings; kind of rude, mean spirited, snarky, an overall jerk. But it's moments like these where everyone realizes that he's a cat with hopes, dreams, and love, just like the rest of them. Don't ask me how Daisybird fell for this guy. I'm pretty sure he's been a lowkey jerk his entire life XD_

 _Oh yeah, connecting with family. Featherpaw's certainly going to have to do a lot of that if he ever catches wind of his true past. ;)_

 _Maybe a little bit. Everyone has to be worried when I'm writing. I don't hold back. c:_

 _ **Pondfrost :**_ _Those are some pretty cute names. I will tell you that the prefix of one you have listed is actually one of their names. c:_

 _Agreed. I'd ship it more if I didn't already lowkey ship Feathers with someone else. ;) But yes, cinnamon roll Feather plus cinnamon roll Brown is always sweet._

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :**_ _Yea, Featherpaw is pretty trusting of Brownpelt. Comfortable enough to shoe more emotion than he would his family._

 _Glad you liked that line. When I had family tree stuff written out, I realized Reedrush had three black furred daughters and apparently Featherpaw felt a little sorry for Daisybird - majority looked like Reedrush! XD_

 _ **Cloudjumper Kat :**_ _Yes I can hear your heart breaking. It's a wonderful sound. Hopefully around here, it will be slightly more repaired before it gets broken more. I love reading your thoughts as this story goes along!_

 _QotC: Let's give your brain a chance to collect all of this information. Did you see any of this coming?_

 _\- Snarky_


	22. Accumulation Reprise

"Accumulation Reprise"

* * *

" . . . Brownpelt, Redbriar, and Shybee. If your name was called, you will adjourn at the entrance and prepare to go to the gathering. Those whose names were not called are to remain here under orders of Shallowstar."

Quickly proving his worth among the Clan, Reedrush takes his mother's former spot as announcer atop the mossy stump. Like a black bolt, he dismounts the perch and veers ahead with fish-like swiftness toward the very front of the aforementioned entrance where the named cats are quickly gathering as per instructed.

"It's a shame you're not going this time," Brownpelt mews sympathetically, bumping muzzles playfully with the calico she-cat who had not been called to go this evening.

"It's all right," Tansyspot shrugs, a little put out but smiling all the same. "You get to go again and that's important to you. Say hi to Stingheart for me if you can, pretty please?"

Brownpelt's nose wrinkles at the mention of the ThunderClan warrior. The young pair had cast rather lovey-dovey looks at one another last moon and the mere thought of them talking again makes the ruddy chestnut fur of Brownpelt ruffle in jealousy. "What if he's not there?" he inquires.

Tansyspot appears minorly crestfallen. "Oh, well if he's not there, you can't do much. But if he is there, I expect him to know that I said hi. Tell him please?"

Not willing to let down the pretty female, the other warrior nods reassuringly. "Of course. Anything for you, Tansyspot. Don't wait up. I'll tell you all about what happens in the morning." He departs slowly, trying to remain in close contact with her until he finally winds up lost in the large crowd of cats.

Nutfur stands alone near the front, a little bubble of space around him separating him from most of the other chatting felines. He absentmindedly scores lines into the dirt with his claws, mind wandering. Featherpaw, as he recalled, was called to go alongside his mentor but Nutfur had yet to see the little black scrap mingle through the mob.

But then again, he's not so sure he wants to see Featherpaw with what Russetburr dropped on him last night.

Obviously, Featherpaw has no clue. Given his lifestyle, he probably would have injured himself if he actually knew his heritage considering his apparent hatred for cats of split, tainted blood. And since he hasn't injured himself, or showed any signs of knowing his heritage at all, Nutfur concludes that Featherpaw and Redbriar and Shybee have no clue that their real father is a ThunderClan warrior.

"Nutfur, hi."

Brought out of his reverie by an unlikely source, the pale brown warrior looks up sharply to meet the bright blue eyes of the only stark white cat in RiverClan.

"Cloudyhaze," he speaks a little louder than he usually would, knowing her half-deaf condition.

The fluffy she-cat doesn't seem to mind. No one treats her any different from another normal warrior aside from the louder speaking so she doesn't complain.

"You looked lonely," she announced, a little smile on her muzzle. "Splashtail would always talk to me if I ever looked lonely."

"Splashtail told you, huh," Nutfur hums in thought, turning full attention to the young warrior.

"Mhmm," Cloudyhaze bobs her head up and down fiercely. "I don't mean to pry, but how have you been lately? How has Featherpaw's training been coming along?"

 _Oh,_ he thinks with an inward wince. _She wants to talk about Featherpaw. Great._

"It's been going fine," he meows in honesty, knowing that their training sessions have been, agreeably, 'fine'. "We've got some ups and downs but it's my first apprentice and his first time training as a warrior apprentice. We're both just getting a feel for the water at the moment. He'll be a well seasoned warrior within a few moons."

Cloudyhaze purrs. "That's wonderful to hear. I've always dreamed of having my own apprentice. Perhaps Shallowstar will let me train one of Daisybird's. Have you had a chance to see them yet? Oh they're so cute. You ever thought of having kits? I'm sure you'd make a great father. Anyone you like? I know Splashtail rather fancies you. Sadly, she's not coming tonight. She's on guard instead. I'm a little jealous but I know her hearing's better than mine. But then again, everyone's hearing is better than mine." She pauses to giggle for a moment. "But I've got a good nose or so Splashtail says. She thinks I'm a really good tracker. She also thinks my white pelt will come in handy during leaf-bare. I'll be able to really prove myself to Shallowstar then. I don't think she thinks very highly of me."

Cloudyhaze drags on in that little happy voice of hers, carrying on conversation with easy words that oddly enough, seem to go in Nutfur's one ear and then out the other.

He catches snippets of her self-absorbed conversation, answering the set that stands out to him the most in his own headspace.

 _I haven't gotten a chance to see Daisybird's kits yet. I've thought about kits, but I don't think I'd be a good father, much less a good role model. I don't have any desires to settle down. I've got to look out for Brownpelt and my Clan. I don't think there's anyone who could deal with me emotionally either._

Cloudyhaze is forced to end her talking when Shallowstar emerges gracefully from the depths of her den and ascends to the front of the crowd, hovering above her subjects on one of the rocks, tail held high.

"RiverClan, to me!" she yowls, jumping off the boulder in a grand show of power and wonder.

Her Clan follows dutifully.

Shallowstar leads them through their territory with pronounced speed, refusing to be late to her first gathering as official leader of RiverClan. Beside her, Reedrush runs with utmost importance with his own head raised a bit higher than normal.

Without any casualties, RiverClan halts on the other side of the river, trekking on the outskirts of ThunderClan's territory to reach the depths of the woods wherein lies the massive four oak trees. The gray feline's tail raises - a call for silence. All little conversations taking place within the adventuring cats quickly slow to a halt as their expectant eyes rise to meet their leader's.

"All speaking can cease until we are safely in the hollow," Shallowstar speaks calmly, watching as the crowd behind her nods in assurance. Her pelt ruffles in the mild wind blowing in from the open expanse. The growing night and full moon brings about a soft chill.

Once all of RiverClan pushes past the undergrowth and spills fluidly like a stream into a lake, everyone notices the lack of the other Clans sans the wiry bodied WindClan cats and the golden dappled tom sitting pointedly atop the large boulder. The thick pelted RiverClan warriors fan out, some seating all the way in the rear and some taking the very front, and some even pleasant enough to seek out their own source of conversation among WindClan ranks.

Nutfur watches from afar, silently in awe as Shallowstar gives a powerful bound, muscles rippling, and ascends to the top of the rock with ease. When Pikestar was still leading, he had been an ailing leader who needed very attentive care from the deputy to ensure he didn't slip on his way up. Now that the great gray female took his place, it was a certain change that made the warrior's heart swell a little in pride for his birth Clan. While she had been dubious as a deputy, it seems that Pikestar had made the right choice all those moons ago in picking her. Shallowstar would be a revolutionizing leader.

"Hello."

Nutfur nearly jumps out of his skin, reacting to the formal greeting by hopping a good mouse tail in the air, his pelt bristled to its extent as the adrenaline pumps through him at an alarming rate.

"Great StarClan, Featherpaw!" he cries, allowing his heart rate to settle down upon seeing the pitch black apprentice standing right next to him. "Can you be any more quiet in your approach?"

Not picking up on the sarcasm, Featherpaw frowns in thought. "I suppose it could be possible. Perhaps another time I shouldn't speak at all and simply nose you in the shoulder."

"I was being. . . nevermind," Nutfur shakes his head, fur lying flat against his body once again, padding out of the way of the other warriors and seeking out a shady spot. As expected, Featherpaw follows. "So where were you before we were leaving? I didn't see you anywhere in the crowd."

 _Not that I was looking for you or anything. . ._

"Ah, I was speaking with brother. Sunpath. He requested I tell him how well my training was going."

"And how is it going?" the warrior inquires, carefully inspecting the apprentice's face for any sign of major emotion change. He's rewarded with another classic frown.

 _Wish he'd smile more._

"You know how well it's going," the 'paw says tartly. "You are the one who is training me."

Nutfur chuckles weakly. "Well, yeah, I am, but I'm new at this. I'm kind of free-lancing this. I only remember from what Lashtail taught me and I'm just modifying things as we go. I just kinda wanted your opinion on how things are runnin'. Am I pushing you too hard?"

"No more than you should a normal cat," Featherpaw reassures him, but the warrior gets hung up on the use of the word _normal._

 _Does Featherpaw himself not think he's normal? Does he know of his abnormal history? Certainly not. Russetburr said the only ones who knew are her, Shallowstar, Cedarstripe, and myself. Featherpaw doesn't know._

Meanwhile, ShadowClan, led by the infamous tawny she-cat with sharp eyes and even sharper claws, slinks into the hollow enveloped by the darkness to match their namesake. Thus, ThunderClan bears the last place title and is yet to be seen by the other three Clans awaiting their arrival.

Much like Shallowstar, ShadowClan's leader bounds to the top with supreme ease, her thin tawny pelt revealing a well muscled physique that certainly can not go unnoticed. But unlike Flystar, who barely paid the new gray feline any attention, Pantherstar looks firmly at Shallowstar. There's a low nod shared between the two and the tawny leader settles on her portion of the rock, satisfied with the inaudible answer.

"You sad you don't get to spend time with them?" Nutfur starts quiet conversation, speaking to Featherpaw as he observes the little cat who is watching Clearwater join the other medicine cats from the other Clans sans ThunderClan's medics, Wrentail and Mothpaw.

"No," the black apprentice speaks evenly, voice low and rough. "I don't miss them. Yelloweye is rather grumpy. Wrentail makes too many jokes. Mothpaw is skittish and makes a big deal about being blind. Twigpelt is rather quiet but Needlepaw - sorry, Needle _thorn_ \- is boastful and altogether rather arrogant. According to Clearwater, he hasn't even experienced his first loss."

"Have you?" the pale tomcat asks tentatively, thinking back to all those cats who entered the medicine den. The harder he thinks, the more he remembers them re-emerging. Perhaps Featherpaw hasn't lost anyone.

"I have not," the blue-eyed tom meows. "I became a warrior apprentice before it had the chance of happening. Clearwater has, however. She lost a kit. Rainsong's only."

Their conversation is lost to the wind, further abandoned once the arrival of ThunderClan is announced by one of the WindClan warriors closest to the outskirts of the hollow where he can see the oncoming group of felines.

Still young, but definitely one of the older leaders, Birdstar takes her time in approaching the rock. From her face, it seems she's minorly miffed - being the last leader to the gathering will do that to a cat - but otherwise the tortoiseshell is expressionless and ready to start the gathering as apparent by her swift nod to the other leaders sharing the rock.

"Pikestar too frail to make it this time?" Flystar finally addresses Shallowstar with an odd bit of snark in his voice, surprising most on the boulder. Flystar is usually not this snide in his comments. "Or did he finally bite the dust?"

Shallowstar keeps her gaze fixed upon the crowd. "I believe it's about time to start."

Pantherstar agrees and decides to assert herself, calling to order the mixed jumble of Clan cats below her with a savage-sounding yowl. "Cats of all four Clans! The gathering is to start!" Her voice drops noticeably as she speaks to the other leaders. "If no one has any objections, ShadowClan will start?"

"Of course."

"Yes."

"Go right ahead."

"Ahem," the rich tawny furred female clears her throat, stepping out into the full light of the moon where she can be seen more easily. "Cats of all Clans! ShadowClan is pleased to report that we are doing well. Much to our surprise, ThunderClan has actually been rather docile in their movements. No reported scents on our side of the border."

The small tortoiseshell bristles, muttering under her breath, "My warriors weren't over there in the first place." But it goes mostly unnoticed as Pantherstar steps back.

"Flystar?"

Cue given, the golden dappled tom strides forward. "Sadly, like last time, we don't have much news to administer. It will be another season before Swallowflight's litter is ready to be apprenticed. Aside from such, WindClan is doing well. We will see as the days get colder." Dipping his head, he maneuvers backward, shuffling back into line and allowing the third leader to have her turn.

"Unfortunately," Birdstar speaks, voice hung up in marginal sorrow. "Bouldernose was struck ill. Even with herbal assistance, he didn't make it for very much longer. However, I'm pleased to announce that Cedarstripe, one of our senior and most loyal warriors, has taken his place."

At the mention of his name, the large reddish tabby stands up in pride.

Nutfur's eyes are instantly upon him, unsure with what his expression should mar. Should he glare? Should he smile? He settles with a quick neutral expression, allowing himself to show a little forced enthusiasm. This was the very cat that violated Shallowstar after all. The very cat that forced her to bear another litter.

Speaking of Shallowstar, up on the rock, the aforementioned she-cat seems to be handling herself quite well. Her pelt ruffles at Birdstar's announcement, a wave of memories threatening to spill into her immediate thoughts before she pushes them forcibly back away into the darkness where they belongs. Her green eyes remain pale and unemotional as ever, body structure poised and perfect as a leader would look.

"I know he will do a fantastic job," Birdstar continues, her voice warm with pride for the tabby as he smiles down in the crowd before sitting down once more. In response to her deputy sitting, the small tortoiseshell steps back, allowing the final leader to speak her news.

Shallowstar takes a deep breath, inaudible to those except for the other leaders, and takes a broad, assertive step forward into the light. "RiverClan has much to say," she starts off strong voiced, unfamiliar to how her voice echoes off the rock. Pikestar had made it look so easy. "Sad to say, Pikestar is no longer with us - he hunts with StarClan. I received my nine lives more than a half-moon ago and I am now Shallowstar."

"Shallowstar! Shallowstar! Shallowstar!"

The cries are mostly RiverClan, but from this height, Shallowstar can't tell whether or not the other Clans are joining in on the cheer.

She waits for silence to ripple through the crowd to carry on her news. "As such, I've chosen my own deputy who I know will follow in my pawsteps with fervor. Reedrush, please stand."

Under orders of his leader and mother, the sleek black tom rises to full height on his four paws, pride pulsing through his veins as he hears his own cheers throughout the mob of felines. Once he sits again, Shallowstar continues.

"In addition, Shybee has finally passed his warrior's assessment and now ranks as a full warrior of RiverClan."

"Shybee! Shybee! Shybee!"

"As you can see, RiverClan is undergoing many changes and new growth. Suffice to say, there are some other things that need to be addressed." At this point, Shallowstar aims her stare at Birdstar. "With the upcoming cold season of leaf-bare on the rise, I've decided that RiverClan needs the stream as well as Sunningrocks. I'm revoking ThunderClan's rights to the river. Any warrior found there without good reason will be promptly shredded."

"What?" Birdstar shrieks, her voice enraged as it bounces off the boulder and resonates in the confused crowd. "You can't go back on our compromise! Pikestar may have been a jerk for not letting us use it during green-leaf as well, but he promised ThunderClan rights to the river during leaf-bare. You cannot take away what we deserve!"

"I can and will," Shallowstar answers evenly, staring down the smaller feline. "Your compromise was created with Pikestar. Pikestar is no longer living and as leader, I am free to make changes how I see fit. And the change I _can_ and _will_ make, is the new rule that no ThunderClan cat is to fish from our river. If that is all, then I call this gathering to a close. RiverClan, to me!"

Graceful and powerful, Shallowstar soars off of her perch, landing in a safe patch of moss where she's surrounded by her own cats who use themselves as a block to prevent any of the other Clans - specifically ThunderClan - from getting too close and bombarding their leader. She quickly sails to the front without much effort and her Clan trails behind, ignoring the dirty looks from many of the other cats still there, sitting and gawking in the hollow.

"WindClan, we've had enough of this. We're leaving." Flystar abandons his spot, smoothly leaping off and guiding his clan away toward the moors.

"ShadowClan, no sharing tongues tonight." Pantherstar's voice earns a few sighs. Despite many stereotypes against the dark dwellers, many ShadowClan cats enjoy speaking at social gatherings. Now blocked from any other forms of conversation with the other Clans for the evening, they mournfully gather themselves up and trail the tawny she-cat into the dark brush leading back to their home in the marsh.

Birdstar is the one who stands, slack and unbelieving of what exactly just happened. She ends up fluffing up her pelt, growling out her frustrations as she watches the RiverClan leader disappear.

"How dare she. . ." the tortoiseshell hisses, climbing off the rock to join her equally displeased Clan.

Perhaps the next full moon will bring about a more pleasant gathering.

* * *

 _A/N:  
_

 _Fun joke. I saw an opportunity and I took it. The only other gathering chapter we have in this story is called Accumulation. So I made a funny and this gathering chapter is the reprise. :3 Haha, I'm hilarious._

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** It is indeed set in the old forest. Oddly enough, it's the territory I'm most comfortable writing about. _

_Russetburr is an enigma certainly. But one thing's for sure, she's sure hung up on killing half-Clans and they're not all that bad._

 _Yeah, there's gonna be a few rotten apples in the bunch. This apple just happens to be a reddish tabby tom who made a bad choice and sadly, doesn't regret it._

 _As such it's only implied. Russetburr has a way of making things sound different from what they actually are. Even then, Nutfur's not sure he reciprocates._

 _Interesting crazy theory though._

 _ **BrightMind :** Oh yes, literature logic dictates, if something is going too well, there must be a sour twist that brings about balance. _

_Haha, she's always being creepy. Not the best StarClan cat to talk to in all honesty._

 _Oh crap crap crap on a cracker! It so meant to say 'severely DISliking'. Oh gosh that makes that whole paragraph sound weird. The idea is that Nutfur DISLIKES the scent of fear on Featherpaw. "At this point, he much prefers the snarky and rude Featherpaw to this shriveling mass of black fur." He's used to Featherpaw being very confident and prideful. Nutfur's point is that submission doesn't suit Featherpaw and he's willing to take the snark and rudeness over the scent of fear. I fixed that sentence now. c:_

 _No no, of course not. Shallowstar and Frogjaw, unlike some parents in Warriors, are actually thoroughly devout to each other. They don't flaunt their adoration in lovey-dovey manners, but they're that power couple. They're together for the long run, don't fret._

 _Haha, I wondered how many people would call BS on that. Nah, I've had this planned. The point was that Cedarstripe resembled more of Redbriar and Shybee rather than Featherpaw. Him being black furred is more unbelievable because you have to look at the whole perspective considering Shybee and Redbriar resembled Cedarstripe. Featherpaw gets his genes from Shallow's mother - a black cat. Shallow gets hers from her gray furred father.  
_

 _Death is one of my favorite ways to end a story. Perhaps you're not that far off base. Hmm~_

 _QotC: Oooooh~ Tension in the leaders. Shallowstar's keeping to her word, she's definitely making some changes to RiverClan. The question is, what are the other leaders going to do about it? Obviously, this is mostly affecting Birdstar and what the little tortoiseshell's choices will be, but some of the other leaders might have some curious insight on Shallowstar's developments. How will Shallowstar being leader affect the other Clans?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	23. Rebellion

"Rebellion"

* * *

"Hey Reedrush! Just like old times - up for a patrol down to the river? We're gonna mark up past Sunningrocks."

The stocky and short golden furred warrior chases the sight of his eldest brother's black tail as its host waddles away in the direction of the fresh-kill pile. Sunpath skids around on the dirt, kicking up clouds in his furious wake. His hazel eyes are bright with the enthusiasm of a young kit, his grin rivaling the warmth that a mother bears doting after her newborns.

"Sorry, Sunpath," Reedrush waves him away with a whisk of his tail, whacking him gently on the muzzle as a sign to trot off somewhere else. The black furred deputy plucks up his own morning meal, sinking his teeth into a freshly caught carp. "I 'ot oo 'uch oo oo o'ay," he meows sluggishly through the scales. "I 'ot oo oo uff or 'Allowsar. 'Un ayon'." Dipping his head in departure, Reedrush bounds off and away, advancing towards Shallowstar's den with a sailing stride of fluidity.

Sunpath snorts, put off by his brother's attitude.

 _Mother makes him deputy and all of a sudden he's too good for the rest of us._

"Reedrush isn't coming, is he?" Smoothfur strides up, settling next to his shorter brother's side.

"Nah. He's too busy being Mommy's favorite," the golden tom scoffs spitefully, turning on his heels and padding in the direction of the camp's entrance. "Come on, it'll just be us three instead. Unless you wanna convince Redbriar or Shybee?"

"You, Duskbelly, and I are enough, thanks," the grayish tom waves it off, keeping in stride with the slightly shorter tomcat.

"Hmm, ok, all right. Let's go. I'll be much happier when we've got those borders marked off." Sunpath keeps walking, a bit faster now, nodding at their final patrol member on their way out the front reed barrier. Duskbelly returns the nod, subtle and quiet before clambering to his own paws and joining the rear, tail swishing.

Their paws squelch in the mud, picking up the wet soil and staining their legs before they wade through the marshy, watery expanse that surrounds their camp from the rest of RiverClan territory.

"I smell vole. I'll be back." Duskbelly's monotone voice resonates with a little growl as he peels off from the rest of the group and slips into an untreated path of fronds and reeds.

"Getta load of this guy," Sunpath chortles, suppressing a grin at his stoic brother's actions. "You think maybe Feathers got lessons from him on how to be a class one jerk?"

"Nah, I think maybe Reedrush taught him. That pretentious type." Smoothfur snickers, prancing ahead a few steps. Sunpath easily chases up to catch him, laughing as he bounds alongside.

The pair jumps around in vocal silence until their brother Duskbelly saunters up with a recently killed vole clamped triumphantly in his jaws.

"That was fast," Sunpath notes, mildly impressed.

Duskbelly's response is a non-committed grunt. Many would think it's because of the vole in his mouth, but those who know him best would know that his grunt is Duskbelly's common response for just about everything.

"Hey," Smoothfur's head suddenly lifts up at an alarming rate, posed in suspicion. "That's a new scent." He sniffs harder, nose leading him on a wafting scent that's carrying itself toward the river. Without hesitation, the sleek warrior bolts through the fronds, leaving two confused brothers to sputter incoherently before chasing to catch up in a hurry.

"Wha - wait! Smoothfur!"

The gray tom remains in the fast lead, tearing through the territory as that very subtle waft becomes more of a pungent scent that sticks out like a sore pad among the watery, reed-like musk of proper RiverClan land. The air takes on a certain sharpness that's very much out of place. It's crisp, like oak trees, like undergrowth. . .

Like ThunderClan.

Smoothfur skids to a halt, more surprised than anything else as he locks eyes with two identical pairs of sage green optics. Looking further, their pelts reveal identical silver tabbies - the only difference being that one is slightly taller and more muscular while the other is smaller and slimmer.

"Silverhawk, Flowerhaze," blinks Smoothfur, jaw slackening as he speaks. The siblings stand close to one another, perching on the soil in front of the water on RiverClan's official side of aforementioned stream. Faces equally wearisome - an odd look for either in Smoothfur's opinion.

"Smoothfur, where'd you go?" Sunpath crashes through the final barrier of reeds, stumbling out into the open soil with a vole-less Duskbelly hot on his heels, managing to stick the landing a bit better than their stockier, golden furred sibling. "ThunderClan trespassers?"

The silver tabby tom - Silverhawk - clears his throat. "As of now, we are not trespassing. We've clearly marked our scent lines across the river."

"ThunderClan filth," growls Duskbelly, sniffing the air and marginally flinching at the odor of freshly marked borders.

"Please," the female - Flowerhaze - pleads, stepping forward. "Smoothfur, you must convince Shallowstar of her wrongs. ThunderClan needs the river and Sunningrocks in turn. Pikestar and Birdstar made a compromise."

"That was a deal made between _Pikestar_ and Birdstar," hisses Sunpath, shouldering his way to the front. "One of which, is dead! Therefore, Shallowstar has the right to revoke that compromise. As of now, ThunderClan isn't allowed to cross the river. And she said we're allowed to shred them." He starts advancing quicker until Smoothfur's yelp holds him back.

"Sunpath, stop! You can't hurt them!"

Halted by words alone, Sunpath's furious hazel whirl around on him. "Why?" he barks, demanding an answer. "What are they to you?"

"Smoothfur is our RiverClan intel," blurts Flowerhaze.

"He's your what?" a shocked sounding Duskbelly blinks.

"Our intel," the female silver tabby repeats, sounding certain and courageous as if she's not outnumbered on enemy territory.

Silverhawk nods. "Flowerhaze is right. Smoothfur is our intel on most things that happen in RiverClan. He's the one who told us when Pikestar lost his last life."

"You what?" Sunpath bellows.

"Since when does any one of us consort across the river?" growls Duskbelly, emotion seeping into his face in the form of scandalized distrust.

"Since no one saw anything in me!" Smoothfur snaps, his usually flat and sleek pelt bristled up in anger as he glares at his own brothers. "Since Redbriar became the only daughter, since Shybee became mother's little shy bumblebee, since Featherpaw became the youngest and most favored. Since Reedrush was the oldest and Sunpath was the most rebellious. Everyone had something to set them apart! I didn't want to become unnoticed - I didn't want to be Duskbelly! No offense," he suddenly adds, lowering his head at his comment.

"None taken," the other tomcat huffs, stirring up some soil with his paws.

"You get my point," Smoothfur continues, a lash of his tail. "I was becoming a nobody. I wanted to do something worthy of attention. So, I took the initiative. I thought it would be beneficial to speak to ThunderClan. I would give them news of our Clan and they - Flowerhaze and Silverhawk - would tell me news of ThunderClan. It was a simple exchange. I figured information was important enough to share with Shallowstar. I would be noticed. I would be commemorated. I would be noticed."

Sunpath snorts. "You're just being selfish. Mother loved us all equally."

"If you really think that, then you're just a fat golden fool. I don't know what our parents saw in you. You didn't even respect them enough to listen to them. No, you had to run off and try to start a rebellion. Fish-faced idiot." Smoothfur spits, a little spray of saliva spat upon the ground. In response, a horrified Sunpath gasps, tucking into himself at the insult.

"You went behind our backs," Duskbelly says, seeing that Sunpath is too emotionally hurt to say anything more.

"Not like you would have noticed. You were all too busy sucking up to Mom and Dad," scornful, Smoothfur snarls.

"It's called being good children," Duskbelly continues to speak for him and Sunpath. "We obey not only because she is our mother, but because she is our leader. We are loyal warriors. Loyal to our leader. Which is more I can say for you. Sneaking around behind our backs to reveal RiverClan secrets to _ThunderClan."_ He's sneering now, showing teeth in distaste. "Mind thinking before making such rash decisions? What if your recklessness led to passing off certain information in the paws of the enemy? When you told them of Pikestar's death, did it ever occur to you that ThunderClan might use that as a reason to strike us while we were down?"

Smoothfur remains silent, docile for the moment.

"Say it, traitor! Say that you weren't thinking!"

"I wasn't thinking. . ." the older tom relents, voice ragged and low.

"Louder!" Duskbelly raises his voice - a full blown snarl.

"I wasn't thinking!" Smoothfur yowls back, fierce and proud. "I made a stupid mistake because I wasn't thinking about the consequences! I wasn't thinking. . ."

"Good," Duskbelly seems satisfied, nodding. "Now, turn around and tell your little friends that your _agreement_ is over."

Complying with the dark brown tomcat's demands, Smoothfur totters around, looking less submissive than he had listening to Duskbelly. In front of him, Silverhawk and Flowerhaze look shocked - like they can't believe Smoothfur is going back on his word.

"Duskbelly is correct," he begins, head raised high. "I made a traitorous mistake. Telling ThunderClan our secrets was a rash choice. I realize my mistake but I'm resolving it. I will no longer share news of RiverClan to ThunderClan. If Birdstar wants to know what goes on over here, she can hear it all at the gathering."

"Smoothfur, no!" Flowerhaze protests. "We had something good, something real! You can be honored this way! Tell Shallowstar all of ThunderClan's information!"

"I'm sorry, I can't."

"Why?" Silverhawk interjects.

Smoothfur turns his head wistfully to stare back at his brothers, longingly. "I want to be loyal again. I want to be trusted. I can't be that if I'm running to the river every few sunrises to pass of valued information about my Clan, my family. It's over. And if I ever see you or any other of your clanmates over here, I will shred them. Because Shallowstar said so."

"So you run back to your excuse of a mother?" Silverhawk curls his lip, Flowerhaze mirroring his hateful expression. "You're breaking our deal just like Shallowstar did with ThunderClan?"

"The way I see it, you're still a traitor!" the smaller silver tabby hisses in agreement.

"I'm a loyal warrior defending my territory," Smoothfur protests, hackles raising. "Now, get out and tell Birdstar that we're not relinquishing our hold on the river or Sunningrocks."

"You can't tell us what to do," Silverhawk growls.

"Why not?" a shaken up Sunpath steps forward, gaining his purpose and voice back. "You're outnumbered and on enemy territory. I think we're obligated to chase you out."

Duskbelly bobs his head. "I suggest, before this gets bloody, that you leave."

"Too late!" Smoothfur announces and surges for Flowerhaze, claws extended. Frazzled, the she-cat steps back, hind feet splashing into the water's edge. Trapped, she lashes out with forepaws in hopes to catch the charging tom on the muzzle. The blow hits Smoothfur but it doesn't waver him from tackling the smaller cat into the water with an angry Silverhawk on his heels.

Battle ready, Duskbelly and Sunpath pounce Silverhawk, nipping and biting where they can.

Flowerhaze is wailing, on her paws and pursued by Smoothfur on the stepping stones.

Sunpath bites Silverhawk on the tail, relishing in the pained yowl before letting go and hurrying the trespasser on the rocks leading to the other side of the river.

Within seconds, all five cats are on the Sunningrocks side of the water, biting and clawing each other whilst perched on the sun bleached stones. There's a flash of ivories and a tiny jet stream of crimson that paints the rocks. Surprised cries and triumphant snarls echo from their enclosure, followed by the rough pattering of pawsteps as the ThunderClan cats finally admit their defeat and scuttle back into the woods, their pelts stained with fear scent.

"Good riddance," Sunpath growls, making quick work of their surroundings and instantly spraying the treeline with a lift of his leg.

Duskbelly joins, taking the far left and copying the golden's motions, dousing the foliage with RiverClan's mark. Everything receding from their stench is claimed as RiverClan's. The rocks and the stream are theirs.

For now.

"Are you going to tell Mother I consorted with ThunderClan?" Smoothfur asks once the bloodlust of their fight dies down, silence wafting over all three of them.

Sunpath and Duskbelly glance at each other, some mix of emotions flickering in their eyes before Sunpath speaks, "Nah," he says aloofly. "We'll keep it between us three. You've just got to clean up your act unless you really want us to tell Mother _and_ Father."

"What Sunpath said," Duskbelly grunts, face marred back into that emotionless void it always is.

"Yes, of course," Smoothfur dips his head, grateful for the chance he has to redeem himself.

"We should announce to Shallowstar that the borders have been marked properly," Duskbelly points out, already padding in the direction of the stepping stones, too drained to try and swim across. Swiftly, Sunpath and Smoothfur trail behind, scuffling the dirt and dust around as they walk lazily.

The rocks and the stream are theirs.

For now.

* * *

 _A/N:  
_

 _And my weekly disappearance has come up again it seems. I just take random spurts of time off without warning it seems. Welp. Ah well, I was running out of backlog so I've been taking even more days to write up some extra chapters so you lovely people won't have to wait even longer for chapters._

 _So Smoothfur's finding his place, Sunpath has a rougher more bitter side, and Duskbelly, the ever present lacking in emotion, shows some true face and really has some things to say. And already, darn Birdstar is messing with things. I mean seriously girl, it's barely been a night and morning before you send your warriors off to take the river. Calm down or this'll bite you in the rear._

 _Also, it's not vital but whatever. Reedrush's translation : "I got too much to do today. I got to do stuff for Shallowstar. Run along."_

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** I mean technically, Birdstar chose Cedarstripe. :3 And she had no reason to doubt him. She doesn't know about his secret so as far as she's concerned, Cedarstripe is a loyal warrior. _

_She kind of did yeah. But it's part of her rein. It's just who she is. She's asserting herself as a leader. Shallowstar is no pushover and she's willing to make changes to prove that. She's no laid back Pikestar, that's for sure. She does what she thinks is best. Exactly what you said, it may not be the best, but she tries._

 _Mentor and apprentice bonding. Ahh yes. There's so much action there. I enjoy writing those two as they figure each other out._

 _Guess we'll have to see if it sails or sinks. ;)_

 _Power couple!_

 _Oh yeah. I honestly didn't mean to write her like that. It kind of just happened and boom, now she's one of my favorites. Jeez._

 _I mean, I do like to connect my stories. Even if some of them don't match up exactly for plot purposes. I suppose a lot of them are similar though..._

 _ **SnowfrostOfWindclan :** Tension is great, isn't it?_

 _I'm so glad you've been reading it for a while. Even if you didn't have the chance to review, I'm still glad you're reading. And that goes out to any other non reviewing readers: I appreciate you all just as much as those who do review. You all are special to me too! c:_

 _ **BrightMind :** Yeah, I can see your point. I was actually supposed to switch back between the two, or at least give Brownpelt a longer part but I let myseslf get carried away with gathering stuff oops. Not to fret, Brownpelt has an important chapter coming up. _

_I was trying to figure out who you were talking about in that little paragraph and I was honestly kind of confused, going through all of my characters of this story in my head who potentially matched your description. Especially when you brought up a slashed wrist and I'm like huh? XD Then I read slashed throat and it suddenly all came together. Poor little Starling Chirp..._

 _Oh gosh, it seems everyone's rooting for Shallowstar and Frogjaw to just take over XD I didn't expect this much fame from these guys. And here they were supposed to be unlikable. Way to go snark. Oh but Featherpaw's despair, oh yeah I'm on board with that. We can be disgusting sadists together. :3_

 _QotC: I think I'm running out of questions that don't adhere to spoilers. Soo, I guess I'll be the omnipotent being who knows all and asks you, who do you think this story is about? Is it about one of the brothers - both of them? What about Featherpaw if he's this supposed 'denied prophet' like the title? Or maybe it's about a certain mother who worked her whole life to rise to the top. Maybe someone else? Whose story do you personally see this from the most?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	24. Admiration

"Admiration"

* * *

For the first time in what feels like forever, Brownpelt emerges from the warrior's den, shrinking into himself as he's eerily gazed upon once he steps out into the light of dawn. His pelt shivers in the passing breeze, aided by his self conscious feelings. All eyes are on him in an instant, scrutinizing himself with judging stares. It makes sense, for the time, a little less than a moon, Brownpelt had hid himself out in the medicine den to heal his wounds he sustained during the fox attack. Even after he had mostly healed, he still remained inside the safe dwellings of the medicine den with Clearwater and Featherpaw - until he became a warrior apprentice.

Brownpelt glances around, unsure whether or not to be grateful when the other cats and their gazes drop. His own hazel orbs spot an overly energetic golden cat darting over to speak with the deputy over by the fresh-kill pile. It appears they both share some words before parting in separate ways.

"Excuse you." Minnowrunner comes up behind Brownpelt huddling in the entryway, her muzzle bumping his hindquarters in a movement clearly saying: get moving.

"Oh, sorry!" the chestnut tom squeaks and quickly darts to the side, allowing his former mentor to pass ahead.

The gray and white she-cat waddles on forward with a complaintive grunt and _does her belly look a little bigger than usual?_

Brownpelt ignores the little sway in the warrior's steps, his attention brought away with the chiming bell of a sweet little calico.

"Brownpelt! There you are!"

A smile on her face and a twinkle in her mismatched eyes, Tansyspot bounds over from where she was talking with Ripplemask a ways off from the medicine den. Her paws skid to a swift halt right in front of the dark furred warrior, startling him back a step.

"I tried to stay up long enough to see you guys come home. I didn't get to see you last night," her smile drops a little. "I heard Shallowstar made a doozy of an announcement at the gathering."

"Yeah, she did," Brownpelt agrees, nodding his head. "She's officially revoking ThunderClan's right to use the river. Even during leaf-bare which was what their agreement was with Pikestar. Shallowstar's logic, is that Pikestar is no longer around so she's free to make changes. Now, we're taking the river rights completely as well as Sunningrocks."

"Wow, that's intense," Tansyspot's eyes widen, tail wagging a little as would a small happy dog. "Shallowstar must be really brave. And that was her first gathering as a leader right?"

"Mmhmm."

"Then she's really really brave!" the calico squeals in excitement. "She's the newest leader and already she's making changes. How did ThunderClan react?"

Brownpelt shrugs. "Like you'd expect - they weren't very happy. Birdstar nearly threw a tantrum on the rock. The rest of RiverClan left before she could start anything serious."

Tansyspot frowns, tossing her head adorably to the side in a picture of innocence. "But what about the code? The night of peace? Birdstar couldn't have started a battle unless she wanted the wrath of StarClan."

"I don't think that would have mattered to Birdstar," Brownpelt admits, wincing at the thought of the angry tortoiseshell. "She's headstrong and very fierce. Although not as fierce as Pantherstar. ShadowClan's leader is downright scary." To emphasize his fear for the slender cougar colored female, the rugged tomcat shudders. "I'd hate to share borders with them and end up crossing accidentally. You remember last time she nearly bit Birdstar's head off for ThunderClan trespassing."

"Oh yeah," Tansyspot stifles a giggle, snickering at the memory. "Pantherstar is _terrifying._ Oh hey!" she jerks her head up in realization. "Did'ja get a chance to say hi to Stingheart for me?"

Brownpelt shuffles awkwardly, ears flattening against himself in submission. "Oh, Tansyspot, I'm sorry. In all the chaos of last night I didn't get a chance to see Stingheart. I'm really sorry, I'll get to see him next moon maybe!" He quickly tries to assure her, wincing at Tansyspot's slightly crestfallen features.

"Eh, it's all right, Brownpelt," the calico shrugs noncommittally and forces a little grin to mar her disappointment. "Like you said, there's always next gathering. Hey, I have an idea." She's quickly jumping to another topic with the sporadicness of a dizzy sparrow. "You haven't seen Daisybird's kits yet, have you?"

A slow shake of his head.

"Perfect! I haven't either," Tansyspot trills, bouncing up to her paws in an instant, already facing the direction of the den with the scent of milk wafting from it. "I think she's named them already! Come on!" Without another word, she darts off like a hornet, a stream of orange, white, and black splashed fur.

"Tansyspot!" Brownpelt calls but it's too late and the she-cat is off, leaving him with little choice. He follows, right on her tail in a matter of seconds.

She turns around with a smile, jerking to a stop just outside the nursery. "Come on," she smiles, giddy and warm like a ripe essence of sunshine. Her face crinkles up in delight, taking the lead into the dimmer setting bathed in milk scent. Like a lovesick puppy, Brownpelt dotes after and tails her inside.

"Who's there?" a soft, but paranoid voice quivers in the shade, a rustle of fur and bedding the only noise aside from some quick breathing.

"It's just us, Daisybird," Tansyspot reassures the queen, slowing in her steps so not to alarm the cream female any further. "Tansyspot and Brownpelt. We were curious and wanted to see the kits. May we?"

There's a relieved sigh. "Yes, dears, you may. Come closer. Can't very well see them from all the way over there, now can you?"

Smiling, the two warriors creep closer, pawsteps soft as they near the faint noises of little mewling kittens. Daisybird's fluffy tail moves to the side to reveal four little bundles dappled in light. Three black and one pale cream with some whitish markings.

"They're beautiful," Tansyspot breathes in awe.

"What are their names?" Brownpelt voices.

Daisybird's features crinkle up into fatigued amusement, as if she'd said this a thousand times since their birth. "The oldest - Spiderkit -" she gestures to the furthest on the left, sitting on top of "- the biggest - Nightkit. My only son - Rushkit -" the cream and white tom "- and my youngest - tiny Fadekit -" the last tiny little black body, curled up off to the side avoiding the squish and squash of Spiderkit and Nightkit as they subtly fight for dominance.

"They're so cute!" Tansyspot squeals.

"They're a pawful," Daisybird sighs, still softly smiling however. "Only have them when you're ready for the challenge."

"I'm always ready for a challenge!" the calico insists, beaming. "Kits would be great to take care of. What about you Brownpelt? Ever think of having kits?"

"Yeah, um Tansyspot, think we could take a little walk around outside?" Brownpelt meekly suggests, swaying toward the entrance with small motions.

"Of course she'll go with you," Daisybird purrs, nudging Tansyspot closer to the the ruddy chestnut tom. "You can come back to play with the kits when they're a bit more active. Go spend some time together."

"Oh ok!" Tansyspot chirps, unsure at first but eager to please and sides up next to the other warrior as they depart the nursery.

Brownpelt smiles cordially. "Bye Daisybird. It was nice to see you and the kits."

"You too, dears. Have fun," Daisybird chimes, watching them leave with her own loving eyes.

Neither is in too much of a rush as they trot off into the light. Eyes are on them, like most cats do when others leave the camp. It's blatant curiosity. Brownpelt offers to take the lead, a few steps ahead while Tansyspot falls in line just beside him and a step back. Their pelts brush up next to the barrier, a comforting shiver running through their bodies as the reeds turn into mud that squelches in the slits in their pads. The muddy ground is swamped with puddles and soon the pair of warriors are paw deep in the murky ponds. It's a comfort only a RiverClan cat could appreciate. ThunderClan and WindClan wouldn't last minutes out here. ShadowClan was at least more suited to marsh and the like.

"So where did'ja plan on going?" Tansyspot voices, prancing along through the trodden reeds and plants.

"Nowhere in particular," the other warrior admits, slowing down his swift trot to a more casual gate. "I just thought I could do with a walk. I haven't really been outside much lately. You've noticed."

The calico nods solemnly. "Yeah, I've noticed. I was afraid you were becoming a recluse. You hardly left the medicine den even after your wounds healed. I talked to you. I tried to get you to go back to your nest. You didn't quite listen."

Brownpelt swallows. "No, I suppose I didn't. I was rather lost. I needed to clear my head."

"For almost a moon?" Tansyspot echoes, worry and accusation on her beautiful face.

"I wasn't in good headspace, Tansyspot," Brownpelt tries to reason with the approaching panic. "I didn't know what to do. I couldn't trust Nutfur. I couldn't -"

"Couldn't trust me?" Tansyspot interjects, marginally mortified. "I offered a paw! I offered to help! You couldn't trust me?"

"I'm trusting you now," Brownpelt protests, fighting to regain stability in their conversation. Oh where had the smiles gone? Where was Tansyspot's jubilant face? Why was it still hiding under the disbelief and shock?

Tansyspot still frowns. "But how long can I be trusted?"

"From now until forever," Brownpelt whispers, voice cracking just a twinge, lurching forward with still enough hesitation that granted the small calico a chance to pull away.

She doesn't.

And the whole of Brownpelt's rugged, chestnut fur envelops her own white, black, and orange splashed. He nuzzles into her shoulder fur, carefully wrapping his paws around her back in a securing embrace.

Finally, the calico starts to peel away. "I think," she begins in a wary tone, "that we need some space."

"I think we should talk about this," the tomcat insists, muzzle creasing into simmering fear.

"I think that we need some space from each other," Tansyspot repeats, taking a step back.

"Tansyspot, I think I'm in love with you!"

The calico's mismatched eyes widen.

"In fact, I don't think anymore, I know that I'm in love with you!" Brownpelt adds quickly, covering up for her silence. He begins to ramble, "I've been in love with you since we were apprentices and I've been in love with you even after we became warriors. I got jealous every time you talked about Stingheart and if I wasn't so overcome with surprise the night of the gathering when I met him, I would have seen red. I got jealous when you doted after my brother, I got jealous after every time you were with another tom. You asked about my opinion on kits? I love kits! I think they're amazing! And I'd love to have them with you. We'd be great parents! I promise!"

"Brownpelt, slow down," Tansyspot speaks in a shuddering whisper, like she can't keep track of the pace quick enough. "I know I said I'd love to start a family with kits and all, it'd be a great challenge, but I'm not ready for it now. You and I are so young - we've only been warriors a full moon. I'm. . . not ready."

"But I -"

"If you really love me in the way that you say," the trembling female grits out, "then you'll respect my choice and give me space. I'd like to think about what has been said here. Please don't run after me." And the calico suddenly sprints past the chestnut tom, racing back in the direction of camp, leaving a dumbfounded Brownpelt in her wake.

"Fish-breath!" Brownpelt seethes, cursing himself as he throws his body down on the ground in utter frustration. "You push yourself too hard and then you end up scaring her off! Can't you do anything right?" His eyes feel heavy with water, tear ducts starting to spill and soon he's angrily sobbing, his cries muffled into the mud.

All cried out, Brownpelt finally lifts his head from the wet earth, his face smeared with the slimy substance. He doesn't know how long he's been laying here in the slums but he imagines it's been some time. His pelt prickles. It's been forever since he's properly cleaned the darn thing - Nutfur always tsked at him about the condition of his messy fur. And now it's all caked in damp mud and other marshy concoctions. He probably reeks too. No more than Nutfur does when the sleaze has found himself an easy lay but seriously - when's the last time he's properly bathed?

The river between ThunderClan and RiverClan suddenly becomes the epitome of perfection.

Dragging his paws, the disheveled warrior pads in that direction.

He bumbles through the reed stalks, parting them with noisy crashing sounds. Stumbling around on his own big paws, the young, awkwardly proportioned warrior aims himself at the water and breathes a sigh of heavy relief as he connects with its coolness.

There's a faint trace of a laugh on his lips as he wades out further, cold liquid singeing the tips of his fur in an oddly pleasant fashion. The water level reaches his shoulder height and soon, Brownpelt's paws leave the safety of the ground below him and he's full out swimming. Determined to clean everything, he plasters his visage in the water, senses alight with the numb pain of chilled river water on his face. He thrashes around in the stream, embracing the cleansing process.

Deciding he's had enough of the heft weighing down his thick coat as he swims, gauging himself cleaned, Brownpelt wades back onto the shoreline, panting and heaving. Water drips from his fur, clinging to it in a manner that weighs him down, grounding the cat until he shakes most of it out.

Clean and satisfied, the warrior walks back to camp.

Still heartbroken.

He manages to take three steps back through the reed barrier before he's attacked with words from an overly cheerful elder sibling.

"Hey, Brownpelt! There ya are!"

Almost immediately, Nutfur has bounded from across the camp with Featherpaw quick on his heels and they both jerk to a stop in front of the slightly taller warrior.

"Wow, you look like a half-drowned rat!" the pale feline chortles, all in good fun, bumping their shoulders together. "What'cha do? Try to stare at your reflection and fall in instead?"

Shaking out his fur a bit more, Brownpelt straightens up. "No," he says calmly. "I just went for a relaxing swim. Clear my head and such."

"Sure," Nutfur snickers, taking his brother's honesty for dignified denial but he lets the subject mostly drop with his next request. "But hey, Featherpaw and I are going out for a run. Gotta keep in shape and keep him on his toes. We figured you might want to join us? Just a good sprint out to the gorge. Ground's flattest there."

Brownpelt subtly bites his lip as he thinks.

 _Anything to get my mind off Tansyspot,_ he finally decides, nodding in response.

"Yeah, sure, sounds fun."

"Great! Let's go!"

Nutfur takes off, having the caller's head start before a determined black furred apprentice quickly sprints in tow, kicking up soil. A surprised sound escapes Brownpelt's maw as he whirls around in fervor, legs moving in overdrive in order to catch up to his brother and Featherpaw who have already managed to bound over the murky puddles with utmost ease.

Equally connected to the wind as he is the water, Brownpelt lets his freedom fly, his cares lost in the breeze as it hurls through his fur when he runs. The onslaught of air that beats against his body is refreshing in the same way the river is for his troubles in order to soak them away. With the wind, he simply runs and all his doubts fly with the breeze and they're lost to thought.

RiverClan's bit of marsh and reeds and puddles morphs into something decently more solid - a flat grassland of plain that bears a resemblance to the fields of WindClan. The roar of the gorge pounds in their ears, a mix of the noise and the blood pumping.

Brownpelt lets himself slow, despite the urge in his every fiber to keep charging, bold and brave against the forces of nature. From a little further ahead, Featherpaw and Nutfur are nearly neck and neck with their furious panting, determined to let neither cat get the upper paw. There's a yelp, the girly cry no doubt coming from Nutfur, and both toms in the lead tumble over each other, tussling in the grass.

"You tripped me!" Nutfur complains.

"I did no such thing!" protests Featherpaw. "You fell over and took me down with you."

"Come on, guys, let's go see the gorge," Brownpelt laughs, trotting up to the arguing pair.

"Right, right," Nutfur shakes himself out. "Not bad, Featherpaw," he meows offhandedly to his apprentice as he pads off closer to the rumble of the chasm of water.

"Not bad yourself, Nutfur," Featherpaw replies haughtily. "You almost had me and then you tripped."

"Because you tripped me!" sputters the pale warrior.

"You're only making up excuses for your poor footing," the black 'paw shoots back.

"You have poor footing. . . poor foot!" Nutfur tries and fails to come up with a pliable comeback. Behind him, Brownpelt snickers.

The three of them approach slowly, each and all having heard many a story about a cat who got too close to the gorge and earned a watery grave. The roar sets their nerves on edge, the tremors in the earth rippling down in the deep. Three pairs of eyes peer over the edge, curious to see how far down deep the rip in the earth goes. The gorge is massive in length, impressively wide as well. Branches stick out from the sides, jagged and torn. Down in the water, even more logs stick out from where they fell, carried on by in the current and then caught by the various rocks in the way.

 _Ahhhh!_

Brownpelt jerks on his paws, the familiar she-cat like squeal sounding off to his right. In a panicked stupor, he expects the cry to be from Nutfur who lost his footing. However, when his hazel eyes finally lock onto the scene, another voice cuts in.

"Saved your life!"

A shaking Featherpaw is sprawled on his side on the grass behind them, positively terrified while Nutfur doubles over laughing.

"This time you really did do this, you fish-face!" Featherpaw hisses once he gains back some voice after his initial terror. "You pushed me off the edge!"

"And I pulled you right back in!" Nutfur howls, crashing on his side with his cries of enjoyment.

"I could have _died_ you idiot!" Featherpaw's fury leaks out his eyes, stormy blue again with crackles of lightning.

But apparently, Nutfur's laugh is infectious and soon, both toms are sprawled out in the sun dried grass, with Featherpaw's grumpy, startled attitude dwindling and offering a soft smile instead.

As an onlooker, Brownpelt can't hear anything over the bellowing laugh of Nutfur's. He's yet to hear a laugh come from Featherpaw, but the chestnut tom can see the younger cat's upturned grin.

When did the little guy start smiling?

Last time he had really seen the black scrap, young Featherpaw kept a tight lipped frown. Or at least an emotionless face that resembled Duskbelly's.

What had happened in the past moon?

Nutfur.

Nutfur, his brother, became the mentor of Featherpaw less than a moon ago. Nutfur, his brother, who struggled in the beginning. Nutfur, his brother, who overcame his issues and magnificently aided in the blossoming of a stubborn, frowning flower. Nutfur, his brother, who dutifully spent many hours on training an apprentice, not only for traits of fighting and hunting, but for social cues and a place in society.

Nutfur, his brother.

Be it fate or destiny, something sought to pair these two together in a bond.

Trainer and trainee.

Guide and follower.

Mentor and apprentice.

And it couldn't have made Brownpelt more happy to witness such a bond.

If only he could share such a powerful force with someone.

Someone.

Someone.

 _Tansyspot._

Someone.

Tansyspot.

 _Someone else._

 _Tansyspot._

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Little bit of happy little bit of sad. Some uplifting, some downward spiraling.  
_

 _Hope you all enjoyed Brownpelt's centric. The trend continues and next chapter will also be about Brownpelt because honestly? this muffin needs some more attention. :3_

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** Distant yet close is a good phrase. They're obviously well connected but they're still somehow distant to one another.  
_

 _ **Ponybird21 :** Hey welcome back and congrats on getting an account! I'm glad you liked the ending. Too bad this one was kind of melancholic. _

_**BrightMind :** I did write them as sort of more shadowed characters that played a role in feeding information to both Thunder and River but their true personalities got in the way of their enigmatic sonas. Silverhawk and Flowerhaze are sell outs and actually kind of terrified kittens. They're a bit scared for Birdstar so this was their chance to prove themsevles worthy to her. Just like it was for Smoothfur to prove to Shallowstar. As for his insulting, he's kind of that one kid that doesn't like their parents for how he's treated. Or lack of treatment. Every other sibling except for Duskbelly got some sort of specail recognition. Smoothfur being the exception. Poor guy got jealous.  
_

 _Oh yeah, no, just because Sunpath is my sunshine child does not mean he cannot be affected by hateful words. Especially when they come from his own family. And yep, Duskbelly got himself some spotlight. Turns out he's not as boring as first glance._

 _All bubbles burst eventually~ But yeah, Starling Chirp's death was a little tragic. I'll agree with you on that._

 _QotC: I'll tell you now that next time will be a wave of fluff. As such, in typical Snark fashion, we must have balance. What tragic angsty situation do you think will happen in two chapters from now? Who do you think it will entail? Who do you think will it affect?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	25. Reconciliation

"Reconciliation"

* * *

Unfortunately, avoiding Tansyspot is not as easy as avoiding Nutfur.

Nutfur was almost always out with his apprentice now - training when the sun rose at dawn until the sun set at dusk. Him and Featherpaw were no doubt determined to make up for lost time and pick up the pace in terms of skills. Featherpaw had started his warrior training far too late for his age and Nutfur was pushing him to make up for it. Constant sessions of swimming, fighting and hunting, from what Brownpelt heard. The ruddy warrior's surprised he hasn't heard any complaints yet.

Tansyspot however, didn't have an apprentice to keep her occupied. Unless she was out on patrol under orders of Shallowstar or Reedrush, the young calico was almost always in camp. She slept dutifully in her nest, curled up a bit too close to Brownpelt's nest. And when dawn arrived, without a calling to her name, the pretty female was sunning herself in the light of the morning glow, settled down in immediate sight - the middle of the clearing most often - with a fish of choice nestled in her paws. She possessed a carefree smile, nibbling breakfast every morning, seemingly unaffected by her and Brownpelt's conversation they shared no more than four sunrises ago.

Since then, Brownpelt's been on edge. He walks with trepidation. He's not sure if he can face her if she decides to talk. Yet, at the same time, he's scared of the silence and wishes she would talk to him as would a normal cat. But, Tansyspot simply refuses to acknowledge him, in short. She skirts out of the warrior's den every morning, eats her fish alone and hops along in search of a conversation partner. Sometimes it's her mother, sometimes it's one of the other female warriors. She seems to get along with Splashtail and Cloudyhaze well enough. Minnowrunner, oddly enough, as well.

Still, he was not quite willing to approach her at this time. Tansyspot had said she needed time and time he would give her. Until then, the frazzled tom needed something to do.

"Reedrush, is there a patrol I could go on?" Brownpelt prompts upon approaching the sleek deputy finishing a conversation with Shallowstar. There's a soft set of departing words and the gray and white leader prances off toward her den.

Sadly, the other tom shakes his head, turning his gaze back to Brownpelt. "I already sent out the morning patrols. Lashtail has Cloudyhaze and Splashtail over by the gorge, Ripplemask, Sunpath, and Smoothfur are hunting, and Frogjaw, Redbriar and Duskbelly are assigned to marking the river border after sunhigh. Apologies, but I don't have anything for you. Perhaps a dusk patrol?"

"It's all right, I just wanted something now," sighs the thick furred warrior.

"Just enjoy a day to yourself. It's not often a young warrior gets time to himself. Never fear, you'll be put on the dawn patrol tomorrow morning. I will be leading. Now, run along and enjoy yourself." Reedrush waves him away and for a moment, Brownpelt thinks he's misjudged the tomcat.

For a large family, Brownpelt always found their presence greatly intimidating. Shallowstar - Shallowfern when first met - was already deputy, powerful to boot, and supporting many kits who were already growing warriors. Her mate was just as terrifying despite holding no position of real power aside from being a senior warrior. Shallowfern's entire first litter, sans Sunpath, seemed to carry a pompous aura. Following that was Redbriar and Featherpaw since Shybee was a little too quiet to be considered arrogant.

And when Reedrush became deputy, the threat level escalated. Brownpelt had no idea on how their family viewed half-Clan cats. Before Featherpaw had his revelation with StarClan, Brownpelt was certain the young cat had a serious grudge against half-Clan cats. He wasn't sure about the rest of the family, especially the deputy and leader.

Much to his surprise though, Reedrush was rather docile. He hadn't spoken in any disdain toward Brownpelt or Nutfur. Aside from the usual snark he dished out to his brothers, Reedrush was a fair deputy. Young and still adjusting to the role, but ultimately fair so far.

Heeding the black tom's advice, Brownpelt takes it upon himself to dedicate this day to his desires. As per the obvious, Nutfur and Featherpaw are gone, leaving the brown cat to chase off his fantasies by himself because he's still not ready to talk to Tansyspot. He's respecting her wishes. Like any good cat would do for someone they loved.

Does he still love her though?

Yes. There's no way he wouldn't respect her decision if he didn't love her.

She just doesn't feel the same way.

 _Clear your head, clear your head,_ the young warrior chides to himself, beating back the longing comments with fierce retaliation as he shuffles alone toward the entrance, nodding to the guard that's almost always there.

This time it's Mistbloom.

 _The whole reason you're taking time for yourself is to get away from thinking about her. Don't muck it up. This day is yours._

 _But. . . what to do with it?_

As he lazily tramples through the untread reeds, he briefly ponders a hunting expedition. A quick check of his noise sends that idea up in smoke. Besides, Ripplemask already has a patrol out. It wouldn't be kind of him to mess up their hunting with his own angsty problems.

So, alone with his musings, an aimless warrior wanders without a place in the world. At this point, he's stopped looking ahead and instead stares at his paws, letting them take him where they want. When they reach flat wood, Brownpelt's attention snaps upright and he looks ahead to see the sturdy bridge that RiverClan crosses to get to the gathering every moon. Deeming Fourtrees a suitable place to have to himself - why shouldn't it be; the four oaks belonged to no Clan - Brownpelt saunters off at an easy pace down the bridge and toward the part of the woods host to the biggest oak trees in Clan history.

Brownpelt keeps his steps light and quiet, fearful of disturbing the aura of peaceful silence that drapes over the large oak trees and their hollow. He pushes past the patch of undergrowth, slipping into the wider dip of earth where all four Clans have enough space to gather and mingle. The hollow remains silent, the low rustle of leaves from the wind stirring, but nothing more. Brownpelt is marginally scared to breathe any louder, fearing breaking the sacred bubble of silence. He creeps into the light, relishing in the warmth as the sun bathes his thick coat, cocooning him in his own bubble of tranquility. He spots a butterfly fluttering from one of the colorful flowers near the center, flying off with its fill in the direction of ThunderClan's cedar woods. Despite its constant trampling every moon by many cats, the grass in the hollow remains as green and pristine as ever, almost as if influenced by StarClan's grace.

Within seconds, he's marveling at the sight of the massive rock in front of his face. He has to look up high to see the top, visualizing where all of the leaders would stand and how they would appear in reference to their mood. Brownpelt can see the agitated Birdstar, the haughty, yet cunning Pantherstar, the aloof Flystar, and the serious, stone-faced Shallowstar.

If only he. . .

Nevermind. It's a stupid fantasy.

But. . .

Succumbing to the desire, Brownpelt makes his way around the base of the great boulder, searching for the easiest way to start his accent. The Pikestar way. He discovers that easier path to clambering up the rock and rather clumsily reaches the top. Panting from the sudden climb, the chestnut tom surveys the hollow, amazed by how different it looks from such a height. He feels in power, completely in control.

"Cats of all Clans!" he tests out the echo, meowing as if he were speaking to said Clans. "The gathering is about to begin. And it is I, Brownstar, leader of RiverClan who will start."

"Nice to see I'm not to only one with leader fantasies."

The amused, silken voice catches the tom by surprise. He stumbles backward, determined to get out of sight as quickly as possible.

Another warm chuckle sounds from the center of the clearing and Brownpelt tentatively approaches the edge of the boulder once more, peering over warily to see who spoke. Certainly not one of his clanmates - he would have recognized the voice.

It's a she-cat. Her velvety tone of voice gave that away pretty easily. She's well built - sleek and slender with a well groomed stark white pelt. But unlike having blue eyes, her's are a rich liquid amber. For a WindClan cat, she's quite aesthetically pleasing.

"Whitewater of WindClan, nice to meet you," the female announces when it's obvious Brownpelt isn't going to speak out of fear. "You must be Brown-something. Pelt? Brownpelt? I thought I heard Pikestar announce your name a couple moons ago."

"Yes," meekly, the brown tomcat in question mews, ducking back away out of sight. "That is me." His statement is answered with silence so he lifts his head again, surprised to find the space where the cat was, empty.

"Ahhh," purrs the voice at his side, startling the poor warrior out of his skin.

"Ahhh!" is his response, shockingly looking over the white female that sits atop the rock beside him.

"No need to yell, child," the she-cat - Whitewater? - meows calmly, shaking her head amusedly with a roll of her eyes.

"But you're - you just -!" Brownpelt stammers.

"Yeah, I was down there and now I'm up here," Whitewater casually explains, appearing somewhat bored. "WindClan cat. Superior speed and agility."

"Right," calmer, Brownpelt murmurs. "So what are you doing here?"

Whitewater, her name assumed from her quick introduction, smiles. "I didn't make that clear? I have leader dreams here too. Whitestar, leader of WindClan, speaking out to all of the Clans and carrying my own Clan with pride and prosperity. I skirt out of camp every once in awhile. Fourtrees is very tranquil. Even if I don't want to call out to an imaginary audience, the serenity here is amazing. Clears my head."

"Yeah," agrees Brownpelt, voice catching in his throat as he casts a glance out to the grassy field. "Peaceful. Easy to forget your problems."

"So I can assume you have problems you're looking to forget," Whitewater muses, observing Brownpelt with intriguing amber eyes.

"Yeah," Brownpelt heaves out a sigh.

"Lover problems," Whitewater says simply.

Brownpelt blinks. "How'd you guess?"

The WindClan warrior shrugs amiably. "You're young, you have that longing look in your eyes. Something's happened and you're trying to forget her. An argument? No, little too young to be committed. Ah," he face lights up in thought. "You've told her how you really felt and much to your disappointment, she doesn't reciprocate. So now, you're trying to forget her and move on before."

"Can you read minds?" the young chestnut tom blinks again, amazed by the she-cat's deducing skills.

Whitewater laughs - a tiny snicker at best. "No darling, but I can read expressions. Yours has heartbroken written all over it. Care to share?"

"I don't know what I can share," the RiverClan cat admits. "You've explained it all so clearly. I've been in love with her since we were out of the nursery. She always doted after my brother though, I could see it in her eyes. I could see her grow out of it when he became uninterested but I think she had feelings for a ThunderClan tom. On our first gathering together as warriors she insisted on going over to say hi. Nothing too wrong with that I suppose but there was something about her personality that night that revealed that she wasn't all that into me and much more interested in that tom. I went to the most recent gathering without her and she asked me to say hi to him on her behalf."

"Did you?" Whitewater questions.

Brownpelt shakes his head. "Nah, I didn't see him. I don't know if I would have even if I did see him. No, yes, I would have. If it made her happy, I would have said hi to him."

The white cat hums. "Sounds like you really do care for her."

"I do," Brownpelt stresses, kneading his paws into the stone. "But I told her prematurely. We went to see one of our queen's kits a while ago. We got on the subject of kits and we went out for a walk. I told her that I'd love to have kits with her and that I loved her." He drops his head. "She just looked horrified. Like I had asked her to eat worms or something. She demanded space and I haven't spoken to her since."

"And you've got it bad. I know what it's like to experience unrequited love."

"You?" Brownpelt blurts, shocked. "But you're so pretty? How could anyone not love you?"

"Oh, there's a special case. They're. . . they're different," Whitewater settles on her word choice, shuffling her body a bit on the rock. "Black pelt, ashen eyes. They are certainly. . . visually pleasing, you might say."

"Handsome?" Brownpelt tries.

Whitewater rocks her head back and forth to the side, pondering the word. "I suppose so. I might use a different word but I suppose they mean relatively the same thing. Regardless, I have affections for them and I don't think they feel the same. But, we're not here about my problems. I think we're talking about yours. I don't have a chance with my adored, you on the other paw, do."

Letting the subject drop on Whitewater's crush, Brownpelt thinks to his own problem with Tansyspot. "How?" he asks, defeated. "She told me to give her space. I'm allowing her to approach when ready. It's been four sunrises. She hasn't had any inclination to talk to me."

"There's always a chance for a fifth," Whitewater meows simply. "By acknowledging her request, it shows your trust and devotion. It's a test, Brownpelt. Continue your path. Let her take this problem at her own pace. She's the one in control. Trust her to acknowledge you when it's time. Until then, live each day as your last. You're young, but many a breeze stirs the air. Bloodlust on the wind, power hungry bellies in the shadows, a thunderous roar belonging to a lion on the prowl. I'm not saying you're doomed to die, but you should cherish each day."

"You're very wise for a WindClan cat," Brownpelt observes, earning a laugh from the female.

"What can I say? WindClan's best connected to StarClan and all its wisdom. Highstones and the Moonstone are the closest to us."

"Then StarClan is very kind to you," the male warrior comments, rising to his paws with a grunt. "Thank you for the advice. I think I'm going to head back to my Clan now, I'm feeling rather hungry in my belly."

"Understandable," Whitewater bobs her head, eyes closing in a relaxed pose, still rooted to the rock. "Best of luck with you and your love."

"Thank you Whitewater," Brownpelt meows gratefully, leaping off the boulder like he's seen all the leaders do. He presses into the earth with the landing, straining his muscles and briefly wondering how cats can stand a jump from such a height without permanently injuring their legs. It's a sudden jolt of pain to his paws but after a quick, albeit awkward, walk around, Brownpelt finds his footing and bounds out of the hollow, leaving behind his new friend with leadership dreams and good advice.

* * *

"Brownpelt, may I speak to you please? In, uh, private?"

A mismatched pair of eyes meeting his own is a surprise to the brown tom. He halts his stride as he waltzes into camp, still giddy from his excursion with the wonderful Whitewater. His happy-go-lucky feeling drops out of the clouds and back to the ground upon seeing the calico.

"Uh, sure?" he meows, just as hesitant as Tansyspot looks and he backs up a few paces, aiming his path toward the closest reed bed outside of camp.

Tansyspot follows him out, her pawsteps light and graceful despite her trepidation.

Brownpelt swivels around once they've reached a spot far enough away from prying ears. He sits down on the soft and moist earth, staring at his paws and very reluctant to meet those alluring, blue and amber eyes. He waits for her to speak, keeping well on his word to let her make all the moves.

 _She's the one in control. Let her start this at her pace. She's in control._

"I'm ready to talk now," she explains and with his head bowed, Brownpelt can't read her expression but he guages it to be somewhat mournful and sympathetic.

She mews quietly, "Can you look me in the eye for this? I don't want to be talking to voidless clump of soil."

 _Soil? Is that what she sees you as? Ugh, better prepare yourself for the final blow. She doesn't want to be with a pitiful pelt like you. . ._

Despite his inner quarrels, the tomcat looks up, gaze haggard and tired, preparing for the words that are soon to cut up his heart.

"How long has it been?"

"Four sunrises," is Brownpelt's lazy answer, his tone already defeated.

"I guess it has been," Tansyspot sighs. "Let me start out by saying that I'm sorry I made you wait that long. I honestly meant to talk to you sooner but you were always out of camp. I think you were avoiding me."

The male warrior shrugs loosely. "You said you wanted space. I gave it to you."

"I didn't think you would avoid me completely," Tansyspot makes a sour face, distress in her voice. "I just wanted some verbal space to think about where to take our relationship. I wasn't able to talk about it. That didn't mean I wasn't willing to share a carp or go and share a patrol. I didn't want you to act like I didn't exist. . ."

Brownpelt's nose twitches. He doesn't have anything to say.

"But, while you did give me those days, I put them to use. It gave me a long while to think about my choices and I realized, I never gave you a chance in the first place." The little calico seems even smaller than usual. Perhaps it's the way her voice starts to crack, the way her posture curls in on itself.

Brownpelt flicks an ear. This catches his attention.

"I brushed you off immediately without a second thought," she begins, a faint tremor in how she speaks. "You explained yourself so clearly and I didn't care. It was wholly my fault. I didn't even give you the chance to prove yourself beyond words. Besides there aren't really any cats who have caught my eye unless I want kits that are half-Cla- oh Brownpelt, I'm so sorry, I forgot- I didn't remember that -"

"'S'ok," the tomcat mutters. "I'm used to it."

Wincing, Tansyspot continues, "You're a really sweet cat Brownpelt. You have such a big heart which unfortunately, makes it easy to damage. I wasn't aware of that until I started breaking it and in the process, some of my own. Yes, Brownpelt, staying away from you made my heart break. A small bit every day. I miss your presence. You make it so easy to smile whenever I'm around you. So I'm saying. . . I'm asking. . . asking for a chance."

"Chance of what?" Brownpelt murmurs, eyes a margin wider.

"A chance to start anew," Tansyspot whispers. "I want a chance to start something with you."

"Something?"

"I know you want kits and I'd be willing to -"

"No!" Brownpelt interrupts and for a moment, Tansyspot's face melts into horror.

"You don't want to. . . -"

"No, I mean," Brownpelt clears his throat, "that having kits is a challenge that should be much further down the line. I'd like to, _love to,_ have kits one day. But I don't want to start now. Too much strain. I was thinking that if we're going to start something, we start small."

"Small like?" Tansyspot prompts gently.

"Sharing a nest?" Brownpelt suggests meekly, looking into her eyes with a rush of hope. He is rewarded with an endearing smile and a soft nod.

"I'd love to share a nest with you Brownpelt."

A warm flutter settles in the root of Brownpelt's chest. His heart starts to swell with the thoughts of starting a life with the epitome of beauty that sits in front of him with her glistening mismatched eyes and stunningly splashed coat of orange, black and white.

"Then let's go," the tomcat purrs, rising to his paws and aiming himself in the direction of camp. Dutifully, the she-cat pursuits and pads airily beside him.

Their pelts brush and their tails coil.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Enjoy the fluff while you have it folks. Remember we still have a doozy of a chapter coming up ;)_

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** Heartbreak. Poor guy. As for Brown x Tansy happening? Well c: guess you have this chapter to sprout from. As for Stingheart. . . wait and see~  
_

 _Be happy for that muffin. He deserves it._

 _ **Ponybird21 :** I'm glad you thought it was adorable! I hope you thought this one was pretty sweet too c: Sorry to say, that I think this will be an end to the slice of life chapters for a while. After this, we delve quite deeply into plot and a little bit of craziness. Enjoy this while you can!  
_

 _ **BrightMind :** Well, it wasn't quite a moon. If you remember, Brownpelt attended his first gathering as a warrior and then him and his brother had that fight. A little bit later was when they fought again and Brownpelt ran off, getting attacked by the fox. From then, he stayed in the medicine den for some time, avoiding his brother and his responsibilities. He attended the next gathering so he was out of the den before the moon passed. Still, he was in there for a while, I agree._

 _Oh gosh, don't get me started on Daisybird, I love her to death! Her kits are sweet and oh my gosh I just love her :3  
_

 _Featherpaw, hmm? I guess you're not too far off base~_

 _QotC: What are your, if you have any, favorite sad, angsty, mournful songs? I have a feeling next chapter might make you think of them. Contrariwise, if you need something to cheer you up for the upcoming installment, what are you favorite happy, poppin', jump-for-joy kind of songs?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	26. Expiration

"Expiration"

* * *

"Have you noticed Brownpelt's improved mood?" Featherpaw says in thought in the light of sunhigh, sharing a late morning meal with his mentor close to the camp entrance. A dawn training resulted in no breakfast for either so when they came back to camp, their bellies demanded sustenance. From afar, they observe the sight of a laughing Brownpelt, engrossed in conversation with Daisybird just outside the nursery. The queen's kittens have opened their eyes - a rich kitten blue until they change - and seem to have dedicated the morning to a short little exploratory walk around the campgrounds. "He seems happier. More so than usual."

A small grin creeps its way onto Nutfur's snout, barely containing his happiness for his younger sibling. He leans over, speaking in a giddy whisper to the apprentice's ear. "Brownpelt and Tansyspot have been sharing a nest for the past few days. I think he's really found someone to settle down with."

"This makes you happy? It is not you getting the potential mate," Featherpaw voices in confusion, frowning with his ears pinned back.

Nutfur chokes a little. "No, I'm not getting a mate, but I'm happy for him. I'm happy he's found himself someone whom he can start a family with. Aren't you happy for your siblings? Weren't you happy for Reedrush when Daisybird had kits?" As a point, he gestures to the four bundles of fluff out in the open.

"I was happy as one cat must be when new kits are born," Featherpaw answers simply, sparing a glance at the kittens. "They're potential warriors. That is a good thing for RiverClan. The fact that they are Reedrush's makes no difference."

"Hmm," the pale warrior sniffs, taking another bite of the large fish at their paws.

Featherpaw squints at his mentor in another bout of confusion before following suit and nibbling at their shared scaly creature.

"So," he finally meows, pawing away the remnants of their meal, picking at the bones. "What is our training regimen for after sunhigh?"

"Ah," Nutfur licks his chops, cleaning his teeth with his tongue. "That's a surprise."

Featherpaw tries to keep his face from falling. The last time Nutfur had a surprise planned for them, Featherpaw had been chased through the reeds - a test to outmaneuver your opponent - and Nutfur had disappeared somewhere along the way. Stopping to retrace his steps and figure out where Nutfur was hiding, it was a long while before the pale tom revealed himself and promptly shoved his apprentice into the muddy water face first. Already tentative with water despite their thorough training, Featherpaw still clung to that minute fear of drowning and he panicked with his head submerged. Once he had managed to throw Nutfur clear and tasted fresh air again, he was surprised to find himself on the verge of tears. Nutfur ended their training session early that day.

"Surprise?" the 'paw swallows, fearing the worst.

"Yup!" the warrior smirks, popping the 'p' as he speaks, clambering to his paws and awaiting his apprentice to follow. As expected, he does, looking briefly wary but forcing a neutral expression back over his face, determined to sneer at the possible danger.

"All right. I am ready."

"Good," the smirk remains set on the warrior's face, a permanent expression for the time being. He prances around on his big and broad paws, his short bobtail flicking around excitedly as he takes the lead out of camp, missing the eyesight of an observant Minnowrunner.

It must be some surprise.

* * *

As far as tramples through the territory go, their adventure is nothing more than normal. Nutfur has the good graces to take the lead through the most used path as opposed to those stupid times he makes Featherpaw blaze a trail through the reeds that undoubtedly smack him in the face. This time, it's a simple excursion down the path of flattened foliage - a mix of plant material, water, and mud squelching itself into the crevices of their paws. The reeds on their sides fan out, revealing that ever familiar sight of the river and the stepping stones.

Featherpaw shifts in his step, a small falter as he waddles up to Nutfur's side standing calmly on the soil. "Another swimming lesson?" he queries, mildly worrisome.

"Not really," Nutfur smiles, padding close to the water's edge. "But it does involve a little swimming. No judgement or test. Just follow me." He takes the necessary steps forward into the gently lapping waves until his paws are no longer touching the ground and he's using his appendages to paddle his way across the stream.

Curious, the black furred 'paw shuffles in tow, sending little puffs of the soil and sand up with every prancy step he takes. He no longer flinches when the water first touches his pawpads so walking up to shoulder height is a much easier task than it had been before learning how to swim. Featherpaw's grip on the ground goes before Nutfur's - the height difference creating a little flubble - but it's only a second or two of floundering before the apprentice finds his swimming rhythm through the river.

Coughing up some water that managed to splash in his mouth, Featherpaw crawls up on the shoreline of the other side of the river. Normally, he'd be wary of trespassing, but considering Shallowstar's new demand that the Sunningrocks side of the river belongs to RiverClan, and the fact that ThunderClan cats had mostly kept to their side without hassle, it was a safe bet that the rocks and the shoreline would be safe from attack.

"So what's the surprise?" he dares to ask, glancing up tiredly at his mentor whilst panting.

Nutfur shakes out his fur, water flying off his pelt in frantic drops. The sunlight glistens against his pale brown pelt as he tosses his head to the wind and over his shoulder to meet those hooded blue eyes. He shoots his apprentice a charismatic smirk, a flash of white teeth and a glint in his emeralds. He doesn't speak and instead makes a huge, graceful bound to land poised and perfect atop the rocks where the sun beats down.

Featherpaw's body tenses, readying himself for the tomcat to leap off and tackle him but the action never comes. He frowns after a few seconds and observes in confusion.

Nutfur slumps to a languid sitting position and pats the sun-bathed rock next to him with his left paw. The direction is clear: come here. But there isn't a way to tell what's expected of the 'paw if he approaches. He's anticipating an ambush. . . he's waiting for Nutfur to think he's dropped his guard before pouncing.

"Just get your rear up here," Nutfur rolls his eyes, patting the stone again for emphasis.

Tentatively, Featherpaw complies, pattering up the set of stones until he reaches the spot next to the slightly bigger tomcat. When Nutfur's paw moves, the black cat sits down, shifting with discomfort as his wet behind plasters against the dry rock.

"Now lay down," Nutfur orders in an oddly soft, sentimental tone. This isn't the voice he takes when ordering around his apprentice. It's not the voice he uses when he's telling Featherpaw to 'suck it up and go again - it can't hurt that much'.

Featherpaw stares at him with skepticism glowing radiantly in his stormy eyes, but he slowly follows the order and slithers to his flank, laying tense bodied on his side. He swallows a little lump in his throat, still staring up at the hovering warrior. His breathing is noticeably more shallow, his visible flank rising and falling at a quicker pace than normal. "N-now what?" he tries to keep the squeak out of his voice, clearing his throat to lower his timbre.

"Close your eyes," Nutfur lilts, warm and silken.

Featherpaw's wet pelt shivers, a rush of suspense running down his spine but he can't find it in himself to disobey. His eyes close behind a gentle shut of his lids. "And now?" he whispers, voice unable to be spoken any louder as he expects the next set of instructions to be spoken next to his ear.

"And soak up the sunlight," Nutfur's voice sighs in relaxed relief, vocals pulling away from such close quarters and now settling a good tail length away.

"Huh?" a confused Featherpaw lifts his head, muzzle contorted into confusion. He looks over at Nutfur, surprised to the pale warrior sprawled out on the flat stone, stretched out with a blissful expression plastered all over his face.

"You heard me," Nutfur purrs with no inclination of moving, much less opening his eyes. He wiggles out his toes, a happy flick of his tail hitting the rock. "Lay down and soak up the light. No doubt your pelt is soaked. Dry out and enjoy the warmth."

"But. . ." Featherpaw trails off, still deeply perturbed by the sudden change of events. "What about the surprise? Where's the secret battle training?"

"No battle training," the warrior says honestly with a slumbering yawn.

"Why not?" challenges Featherpaw, sitting upright, still clinging to the feeling that Nutfur's playing him and will wait until his guard is down before going in for the kill strike.

An annoyed sigh exhales through the warrior's nostrils. "Because we had an intense session this morning. And the day before that and the day before that and the day before that. . . point is, we've been training a whole lot and you've improved greatly. It's time for a well earned break. What better way than to take a break on the warmest rocks in our newly acquired territory? So lay down, shut up, and nap." A decisive snort ends their conversation.

With an answering snort of his own, Featherpaw rolls back down to his side, facing Nutfur a small tail length away on the flat basin of sun splashed stone. His squinting eyes eventually close, relaxing his tense muscles with every languid breath while the rays of the sun fan across his drying body. It's a sensation that pulls at his heartstrings. The edges of his pelt tingles, a sort of comfort washing over him in a wave.

Perhaps a small nap isn't so bad.

* * *

"Aww, look at the little fishies who think it's safe to nap on _our_ rocks."

The sultry croon in close proximity encourages Nutfur's hypersensitive senses to flare up and open his eyelids within a half-second. The other half is enough to get him on his paws, blurrily blinking away the cloudy shapes until his sights focus. Beside him, Featherpaw is upright and alert, having been shaken awake by the voice or the noisy shift of Nutfur scrambling to his feet.

Regardless, both are awake, suddenly very aware of five cats sitting in a circle formation with smug smiles to represent the idea of a hungry pack of foxes that have their prey cornered.

A quick once around and Nutfur recognizes Bramblenose, Sunstrike, Stingheart, Amberpaw, and Pineberry.

"Oops, I guess I spoke too loud," giggles Pineberry, the night black female sitting on the highest rock platform, overlooking the two toms with a sneer and a flash of pearly whites.

"Enjoy your nap, boys?" purrs Sunstrike, swishing his tail, blocking the most immediate way off the clump of boulders.

"What are you doing here?" Nutfur challenges, refusing to be intimidated by their ThunderClan tactics.

"Taking back what's rightfully ours!" Amberpaw meows sharply, her dark eyes flashing with hostility as her already fluffy pelt fluffs up.

"Shallowstar is foolish," Stingheart adds with a snort. "First she breaks our agreement and takes the river for not only leaf-bare, but for every other time! Green-leaf, new-leaf, and leaf-fall. The river is now RiverClan's. Foolish! Secondly, she thinks she can pull rank and lay claim to the river _and_ Sunningrocks. Mouse-brain! That's what she is. Thirdly, if she really thinks that ThunderClan will just accept her new laws, then she's a bigger idiot than we pegged her for."

"We were really here only to remark the borders properly," Bramblenose explains, looking less malicious than the rest of his patrol, but still intimidating by his heft. "You two just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What was it that your bumbling leader said at the gathering?" Stingheart feigns a thoughtful look, stealing a glance upward at the cloudy sky. "Oh yeah, that for any cat that crosses the border, we are permitted to shred them."

"Then we'll just leave," Featherpaw voices, rooting for the easy way out in hopes that neither of them will bear scars going back to camp. Somehow, he doubts that they'll actually go for it, but it's at least worth a try.

"Not going to happen," Sunstrike growls.

"Didn't think so," the apprentice mutters under his breath, claws unsheathing.

Beside him, Nutfur gets the hint that the only way they're leaving, is through means of bloodshed. As such, his own claws slide out in preparation, releasing a throaty growl, waiting for one of the ThunderClan cats to make the move.

Pineberry returns the growl, joined in with Sunstrike and Stingheart before the entire section of rocks are just bathed in the sounds of restless hissing and growling.

From behind, Amberpaw makes the first bold move and rams straight into Featherpaw.

The attacked apprentice yelps at the contact. Nutfur whirls around, the black tom's name on his breath before it's taken away when Sunstrike and Stingheart gang up on either side, wrestling the hissing pale cat to the ground with a fair bit of trouble considering Nutfur's violent tendencies. The RiverClan warrior bites and snarls, lashing out with what appendages are not currently being restrained and forces the assault off the stones and onto the softer terrain. He feels claws rake at his side, forcing him to roll where he gets pinned to his back, giving a bloodthirsty Stingheart a chance to dig his claws into Nutfur's exposed belly.

A strangled cry and brute force drives Stingheart away as the collided mass of Featherpaw and Amberpaw barrel in.

Pineberry jumps in to help Sunstrike and Stingheart with wrestling Nutfur back down while Bramblenose bounds off the rock and aids Amberpaw in a chase to contain the oddly agile Featherpaw.

Nutfur bellows out a savage snarl, yanking one of his forearms away from Sunstrike's grip and promptly thwacking the ginger and black tom right in the face, dragging his claws the whole way. To his triumph, the ThunderClan warrior shrieks and pulls back to nurse his injured face, letting a nimble Pineberry bite and tug at the flailing leg. Nutfur fends off Stingheart from attacking his own face, having already been bitten on the ear and at the cheek fluff. With a heavy amount of thrashing around like a caged creature, Nutfur manages to get off his back where he can protect his belly better and starts lashing out with all four limbs and an impressive snap of his jaws wherever he could reach.

Stingheart falls back a few steps, high strung from when those flashing teeth connected with his twig of a tail.

"Featherpaw!" Nutfur yowls, hoping the apprentice is close enough to hear his voice over the scuffle of battle. "Run back to camp! Get help!" He throws his head around, relieved marginally when he spots the streak of black rocket for the stepping stones. His relief jolts to anxiety when Amberpaw tackles him from the side, shoving him into the earth with furious screeching. Even worse, Amberpaw pins him long enough for Bramblenose to lumber over and pouce, forcing the injured apprentice to scramble away from his destination, detouring further down the shoreline with a fast moving Amberpaw keeping him away from simply jumping in the river to swim away.

Nutfur is about to call again, willing his apprentice to remember his training and spring faster but that dies on his tongue as soon as a set of teeth snap near his throat. He jerks back, a rush of fear rippling through his veins as he sets his sights on the closed jaw of Sunstrike right in front of him. Nutfur has a moment to gloat, preening at his own skills when he catches a glimpse of where he struck the ThunderClan warrior's face - a matting of red on his fur by his eye and cheek.

Pain inflames the right of his head, right at the ear juncture. His jaws part to exclaim in a fierce howl of pain as there's a savage rip and hot white pain throbbing just off to the side of his head. He doesn't know how long he's screaming before he's calm enough to tolerate the inflammation and whip his head around to see a disheveled Pineberry spitting out what looks like a clump of pale skin and fur. An ear?

Without a second thought, Nutfur throws himself at the she-cat, his rage overpowering the burning of his wounds. He escapes the bonds of a hissing Sunstrike and barrels into a fatigued black feline.

While Nutfur wrestles with Pineberry, Sunstrike bounds up, crashing his shoulder into the pale warrior's side.

Nutfur yelps, thrown further down the length of the dirt.

He regains his footing.

Stingheart, brazen and boiling, appears in front of the RiverClan warrior with barely a tail length between them. He opens his jaws, baring saliva ridden rows of deadly fangs.

Time slows.

Sunstrike cheers.

Stingheart lurches.

Nutfur recoils.

Featherpaw jumps.

Pineberry gapes.

Amberpaw blinks.

Bramblenose gasps.

Having realized his deathly mistake, Stingheart spits out the mass of fur and skin he had his teeth digging into. As a result, a limp, bloody, black shape fumbles to the ground, scarcely making a noise other than a brief whine.

Hurriedly, the ThunderClan cats back up, mortified that they had let things get too far out of paw. Obviously they had only meant to slice and tear - death was not tolerated in the code without good reason.

"He - he - he jumped in front of me!" Stingheart protests quickly, voice high and panicky as the pale cat shoves his way toward the fallen.

But Nutfur blocks their voices - he's only listening for one.

"N-nutfur?" rasps a gravelly voice and Nutfur perks up in relief.

"Oh, thank StarClan, Featherpaw, you're still here!" the warrior doesn't notice his own voice shudder. He quickly looks over the mass of rumpled fur. Amberpaw and Bramblenose had certainly done a number on him; fur clumped with the dirt, thoroughly ruffled from constant attacking, no doubt many lacerations under that dark pelt and of course the very recent gash on his throat where Stingheart himself sunk his fangs in. His white spot on his chest is no longer visible thanks to the flow of crimson leaking from the tomcat's throat area. He's an ugly mass of blood, dirt and fur, but at the very least, he's still breathing.

"Nutfur?" Featherpaw moans again, flanks moving far too quickly and his breathing far too shallow.

"It's ok, bud, I'm right here. I'm right here," Nutfur quickly reassures him, hovering next to the apprentice's face so he can be easily seen. "Don't try to speak."

So Featherpaw doesn't speak.

But he does something that shocks Nutfur to the core.

Featherpaw laughs.

It starts out as a small snicker, slightly wheezy thanks to this throat wound and constant blood flow. It suddenly escalates to a full blown belly laugh - loud and obnoxious in a way but Nutfur's convinced that it's the most beautiful, yet heartbreaking sound ever.

"F-featherpaw?" the warrior murmurs, fear written all over his face.

"My entire life, I've not laughed once," the 'paw chokes out another raspy chuckle, flanks shuddering with the motion, lips curled up in a deep rooted smile, teeth and all. "I only just started smiling. . . I wanted to see what laughing felt like."

Featherpaw's outburst suddenly falls flat and he now bears an expression that almost looks like he's been struck by some depressing thought. Which, unfortunately, he probably has. The laughter dies and he glances up at Nutfur with watery blue blue eyes. "Nutfur?" his voice cracks painfully. "I think I'm dying. . ."

Nutfur bites his tongue, bowing his head. When he lifts it once again, his own fear is mirrored onto Featherpaw with that hopeless expression and wide, tearful eyes. The sight alone makes Nutfur's heart clench with pain.

"Hey, hey," he meows instead, trying to brighten up the mood with a few quick words. "No more tears, no more tears. Eyes on me, listen to my voice."

"I'm a failure," whines Featherpaw, croaky. "I let down my family. . . I let down StarClan. . . I let down _you. ._ ."

"Listen!" Nutfur barks fiercely, biting back his own waterworks. "Featherpaw, there's something you need to know."

The apprentice tries to lift his head to lock eyes better but with a whine, it falls back down to the ground. "Yeah?" he whimpers.

 _You're half-Clan! Redbriar, Shybee, and you have a ThunderClan father! Shallowstar has been lying to you!_

Nutfur forces himself to smile, ignoring his own break of voice. "Welcome to the family. It's little and broken but still good. Brownpelt and I are honored to call you our brother."

Surprised, Featherpaw makes another little choked up crying sound, eyes clenching shut and closed for the last time. The cries wrack his body with multiple shudders. The blood of his wounds continue staining his fur and dripping down underneath him in a small puddle. "Thank you. . ." is his final murmur, before Nutfur can no longer hear breathing and can no longer see the quick rise and fall of the black tom's blood stained flanks.

Featherpaw is gone.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _...  
_

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** It's a very cute ship I agree, but now it seems is not the time for cutesy humor.  
_

 _ **BrightMind :** Eh, I suppose it could have been fluffier.  
_

 _Ah, yea it's kind of my cup of tea so I find satisfaction for myself with putting a little snip here and there. This is the only time Whitewater is mentioned so you are correct, it's not a big part of the story._

 _Forget Brownpelt for a moment, worry about Featherpaw! D:_

 _QotC: Soooo... death is a fun thing I like to see apparently. Snark is a sadist. Um haha, were you expecting it? Don't fret, the story's not over. We've still got another chapter. I'm just curious what else do you think will happen before our story ends?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	27. Sensation

"Sensation"

* * *

"Nutfur, you know we'd never - I didn't mean to -"

"No."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"No, no, no!" bellows the injured pale tomcat, whirling around from his apprentice's lifeless body, facing the ThunderClan cats - particularly Stingheart - with a heated glare and bloodlust of a starving fox. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me like that! You meant for this to happen, you cowards! You attacked us first and weren't going to let up until one of us was dead! Don't act like you didn't plan this. As soon as you stepped up on those rocks, you knew that one of us was going to die as a message for Shallowstar: Sunningrocks are ThunderClan's. Well I have a message of my own: Birdstar is fish-dirt insane if she thinks we're letting her have Sunningrocks now. The blood spilled here should be enough convincing that it's not worth fighting for."

"Exactly," Pineberry hisses. "The blood spilled here was one of your own. It should be a message for you. It's pointless to spill RiverClan blood over the rocks that are clearly ThunderClan's."

"Pineberry, be quiet!" Bramblenose growls.

"But Pineberry," Sunstrike sneers. "It was just an apprentice. Hardly enough to warrant the phrase RiverClan blood. You make it sound like a war raged on here. It was just an apprentice."

Nutfur snarls. "He was not _just an apprentice!_ He was _my_ apprentice! I was going to make him into a great warrior!"

"Then you should have trained him to not be so stupid!" Amberpaw quips from her place next to Stingheart. "Even I know not to jump in the way of teeth about to clamp down. He was obviously too stupid to think logically."

"He bared his life to save mine," Nutfur argues, fur bristled to the absolute limit as he takes another stalking step closer. "I call that heroism, I call that bravery, I call that devotion, I call that _family._ Not stupidity. And if you don't get out of here right this second, I will take you all down myself."

"Ha! You're so stupid! If two of you couldn't hold us off, what makes you think -"

"Amberpaw hold your tongue!" Bramblenose speaks up again, this time in a much more noticeable growl. "Blood has been spilled here indeed. There is no need for more. Not today. It's time we all turn around and nurse our wounds. Wrentail and Mothpaw will have their paws full. I imagine Clearwater will do the same. RiverClan must also honor their fallen. Let's go."

Battered and bruised, the ThunderClan cats slink off toward their own patch of trees. Bramblenose herds his patrol into the shadows of the undergrowth while the other roughed up felines cast dark glares over their shoulders back at the triumphant Nutfur. Stingheart, however, is unable to meet anyone's gaze and saunters off up ahead with his head bowed uncharacteristically.

Nutfur takes some pride in being the cause of the other warrior's sullen appearance.

As all five disappear into the undergrowth, the pale warrior is left alone with his musings and the lifeless body of his apprentice at his paws. Bathed in silence, he inhales deeply then releases his breath in the form of one big sigh.

No words are spoken when the warrior bends down, gingerly gripping the scruff of Featherpaw with his teeth and tossing him gently as possible up to his back for easy transport. He shifts around his shoulders, nudging the body around in a somewhat comfortable position. Featherpaw's oddly light but for some reason, Nutfur feels weighed down. The very idea that the former medicine apprentice is now dead lies very heavy on the warrior's shoulders. Not to mention the sudden wave of extraneous emotions swirling around in his heart and mind. One couldn't forget about his own wounds which he seems to be vaguely aware of - the missing ear being the most noticeable.

Carrying Featherpaw on his back, Nutfur trudges with slow, careless steps along the shoreline until he reaches the stepping stones. In his condition, a brisk jump in the river would cleanse the dirt and the blood but he wasn't risking his cargo being lost to the current or becoming any more bruised than he already was.

Tired and numb, the well muscled feline bounds across each stone, mindful of his balance until he reaches the safety of the other side. Once all four paws reach the opposite shore, Nutfur walks with a bit less care. He stumbles a few times in the reeds, rolling the wrist joint of his front paw when he steps into an unseen burrow hole. And yet, Featherpaw remains stable on the warrior's back - immobile.

Given his situation, logic dictates that Nutfur would be yowling his head off for help as soon as he wandered into the camp vicinity, wailing for assistance of the guard and a few curious clearing dwellers or perhaps a stray patrol. Strangely enough, he neglects to make any noise aside from his own trampling steps when he passes the reed barrier.

Off to his side, Minnowrunner gasps, catching sight of the copious amounts of blood and the poor black 'paw carried by the stoic faced pale warrior.

Nutfur pads slowly into the clearing, slate faced and void of emotion as his presence draws the attention of every other cat in RiverClan. Shocked faces pop out of dens, jaws slack with surprise. A suddenly distraught Daisybird ushers her kits back inside the nursery, desperate to avoid their questions of _why is that cat sleeping?_ Clearwater bolts from her den, countless bundles of herbs shoved into her maw. The draping lichen of the leader's den parts with a flurry, Shallowstar bursting from inside with Frogjaw and Reedrush on her heels.

The gray and white leader stops in front of Nutfur just as the battered warrior slips his cargo onto the ground as gently as he can. The furious female is about to spout off demands and accusations but a stern look from Clearwater sends the leader back a few steps into the crowd of encircling cats.

Deeming the apprentice beyond repair based on the flat expression Nutfur bears, the bluish tabby scuttles around with marigold, chewing it up as she goes and applying the paste over the major gashes staining his pale brown pelt. Next she pats on the cobwebs, making sure to coat the stump of an ear that Nutfur now possesses since his run in with a bitey Pineberry. With her paw, the medicine cat nudges a small bundle of herbs toward Nutfur, nodding at him as an encouragement to get him to eat.

Nutfur bows his head, snagging up the bundle with a sharp scent - a mix of thyme, chamomile, and poppy seeds. He tosses the taste around on his tongue, chewing tastefully on the herbs before swallowing gratefully.

"Now," Shallowstar breathes out shakily. "You will tell me what happened. You will tell me why my son is _dead."_

"ThunderClan," Nutfur grits out, the name a bitter tang on his tongue unlike the pleasantness of the herb bundle. "ThunderClan is responsible for Featherpaw's death. If Birdstar wasn't a complete fish-brain who only cared about more territory, nothing would have happened. Featherpaw and I were basking on the rocks. _Our_ rocks. We were ambushed by a ThunderClan patrol bent on taking back Sunningrocks and the river. They only left once Featherpaw was dead."

"You did this!"

Everyone in the circle turns to face the source of the voice, expecting the accusation to be aimed at Nutfur as an implication of him lying and killing his own apprentice out of some intense emotion.

However, Shybee is not glaring at Nutfur, he's glaring at Shallowstar.

"You caused him to be killed!" the brownish spotted tabby thunders on. "You immediately took the river back and Sunningrocks! If you weren't so reckless with your decisions, you could have seen how much trouble your actions would cause! And look, my brother is now dead because of a choice you took."

"No!" Shallowstar rounds on her shy little bumblebee, shocked and furious. "It is not my fault! ThunderClan is to blame! I made my choice, they refused to accept it. ThunderClan is at fault. Do _not_ blame me for their mistakes."

Shybee shrinks back, shifting back to his usual mannerisms upon melding into the crowd once more.

Shallowstar sighs heavily, wrought with emotion. "And so the mourning begins," she meows solemnly, aloud to no-one in particular. She slumps down to the ground, nestling into the dirt as she nuzzles the ruffled flank of her youngest.

A wave of silence washes over the crowd, Clearwater abandoning Nutfur for a minute to retrieve something from her den and return with a water laden bundle of moss. Gingerly, she presses it down upon the deceased's pelt, cleaning away the blood and dirt smears. Washed of any color except his own stark black, the moss falls to the side, revealing an oddly peaceful Featherpaw. Still, the metallic scent of blood and death wafts in the air - a rather stomach-churning smell. Clearwater leaves again, ducking back into the den while the others watch and she emerges once again into the clearing with a bundle of purple flowers contained loosely in her closed jaws.

A soothing scent fans from the flowers.

Lavender.

Used to hide the stench of death.

She sets the herb down next to the black tom and immediately, Reedrush and Nutfur dive to snatch up the plant.

"He's my apprentice," Nutfur growls, scooping the lavender closer to himself with his paw.

"He's my brother," Reedrush hisses in retaliation, swiping the herb back toward him.

"For StarClan's sake," Clearwater growls under her breath, grabbing the purple leaves for herself and splitting it in half. "It is not right to argue before the deceased. You're both special to him - share the honoring."

Sharing a glare, both tomcats take their portion of lavender and begin the honoring process. The flecks of purple get woven into his fur, sprinkled atop like fallen rain, dappling his pelt in a pleasing fragrance. Once the flower's contents are mingled in the fur of the dead apprentice, the majority of the Clan disperses. While haggard by the loss, many of them were not so emotionally connected with the young tom. Hardly anyone knew that Featherpaw had even started smiling and were left with the knowledge that the black cat had died without cracking a grin.

So left for mourning, is Featherpaw's family.

"You're nothing but his mentor," Smoothfur takes to Reedrush's side when the pale warrior tries to approach the deceased.

"I'm family too," Nutfur retorts furiously, attempting to step around the other warrior but Redbrair slinks up to stand with her brothers.

"Mentor doesn't mean family," the reddish female spits.

"I'm more family to him than any of you," Nutfur snarls gruffly, a low warble in his throat.

"Watch your tongue, swine!" a hostile Sunpath overhears the conversation and rushes to defend himself, knowing how much his golden self cared for his younger. Out of all their siblings, Featherpaw probably trusted him the most and to hear Nutfur claim he was more than family than Featherpaw's own kin. . . If he thought that, he was sorely mistaken.

"What did I say about arguing?" Clearwater snaps, breaking up another blossoming fight before claws get involved. She swivels her head to glare at the four siblings. "Go pay your respects." She then tosses her head back around to stare at Nutfur. "I know you're distraught as well but let Featherpaw's kin honor him first and foremost. You'll have your chance to honor the fallen. Now go, I think you have some family of your own that needs to be spoken to." She inclines her head toward Brownpelt tumbling through the reed barrier with Tansyspot close on his heels, both blissfully unaware of the depression hanging heavy in the campgrounds.

Nutfur heaves a sigh, wandering over to where Brownpelt's happy expression falters.

"Oh StarClan, Nutfur! What happened to you? You're all cut up and what happened to your ear?" Brownpelt blows up in a panic, frantically bouncing around his elder brother to inspect the pale furred coat marred with dried blood.

"Featherpaw and I took a rest on Sunningrocks. ThunderClan didn't quite agree with our choices and left RiverClan a message." He steps to the side, revealing a small cloud of cats and in turn, the deceased, laying still on the earth.

Tansyspot gasps, immediately catching on.

Brownpelt doesn't audibly respond. His eyes simply widen with fear and disbelief. "Is that. . . is that really, uh. . . -" he starts to speak softly.

"Featherpaw," the pale warrior nods. "Five to two were hardly fair odds and those cheating cowards took everything too far. They went after me. Featherpaw jumped to take the blow. I don't know why. . . that dumb fishface. I told him to go get help."

"But Nutfur," Brownpelt gapes, eyes wide and anxious with underlying fear. "Then you'd be dead."

"So?" Nutfur scoffs, oblivious to the point his brother is trying to make.

"So?" Brownpelt echoes. "So you'd be dead! I wouldn't have a brother anymore! You'd really be so selfish as to leave me? You're my only kin as far as I know!"

"Tch. It's not like I haven't done anything worth staying alive," Nutfur argues, a small chuckle under his breath. "May StarClan strike me down because I don't have anything to live for."

"What about me?" the chestnut cat hisses.

"You have Tansyspot," aloofly, Nutfur responds, starting to walk off. "I'm tired. 'M gonna go take a nap - these poppy seeds are kickin' in."

"Nutfur, you cow -"

"Just leave him," Tansyspot coaxes the dark brown tom back with a soft nudge of her tail. "He's more upset than he cares to let on. Featherpaw was important to him."

"More important than his own brother?" Brownpelt eyes her skeptically with a snort. "Whatever. Come on, I'm hungry."

* * *

Dusk fades into night.

Night fades into dawn.

The small mob of cats moved from the whole family of eight down to two - Shallowstar and Frogjaw.

Both parents continue nuzzling their son's fur, breathing in the scent of the fading lavender. The air no longer hangs with the stench of death but there's an unpleasant lack of smell beyond the plant's natural odor.

"Shallowstar?" croaks a rough, aged voice.

The leader and her mate lift their heads, spotting the approach of a grizzled Thornswipe with dirty paws.

"I've dug out a space for the deceased. If you'll allow me to transfer him to there. . ?"

"That's very admirable of you Thornswipe," Frogjaw speaks. "But I think Shallowstar and I are not finished mourning. We will take him there ourselves when we have fully paid our respects."

"Of course," the dark brown tom with graying features bows his head, padding away back toward the elder's den.

Frogjaw returns to face his mate who is still staring vacantly at the body of her youngest. "And so, I suppose it's the time to ask for your plans to move forward?"

"I'm going to call a Clan meeting," Shallowstar meows, void of emotion. "Birdstar wants a fight and a fight she'll get. She went after my kit, we're going after her's."

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Psych! If anyone actually believed that I was ending the story here, y'all are sorely mistaken. We've got a whole other angsty arc to get through. Featherpaw's death is just the beginning of another plot. And yes, the poor bab really is dead. He's not jumping to his feet anytime soon to call it all an act.  
_

 _Also, happy 100+ reviews! Ahh, I'm so happy!~ You're all such wonderful people!_

 _ **Bright Mind :** Yeah, I can see how it was expected. I do tend to get a little predictable. But I will say that I was a little proud that nobody quite expected Featherpaw's laughing outburst. Little guy never laughed so I figured he'd want to see what it felt like. c; _

_Welp. Little Feather is dead. But! This is not the end c: There's many more a chapter to come._

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** I mean, he's fairly guilty of it. He didn't really mean it. He just happened to be the one cat whom Brownpelt dislikes and now Nutfur wants revenge upon. _

_**SuperBailey :** [chapter 19] aww thanks, your words mean so much :3_

 _[chapter 25] Daisybird and Reedrush are frikin adorable - agreed._

 _Yup. It wasn't too noticeable and the story is enjoyable without but I slip some things in here and there. If you want some more representation, there's my one-shot Shot Through The Heart And You're To Blame. Their Journey also has some snippets and some clarified fun facts about the characters with those topics at the very end._

 _I'm glad you liked Featherpaw and Nutfur's relationship. Too bad Feather's dead! XD_

 _[chapter 26] one, I'm sorry I made you cry. two, you call this a masterpiece? Now I'm gonna cry that's so sweet ;D_

 _Yeah... I dunno if it's a good thing that I can pride myself on my writing of death scenes. It's a blessing. And a curse._

 _Sounds like you get your wish. Shallow's itching for a revenge fight. Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned._

 _ **Ponybird21 :** I did indeed. _

_That wouldn't happen to be a The Office quote from the wonderful Steve Carell would it? ;)_

 _Eeeee, sorry. Also even more sorry because things have started rolling down on the road to angst-ville. Oh well._

 _QotC: Character question time - do you think Shallowstar is in rational mind? Do you think that she's justified to launch a full blown attack based on one casualty? Has the young leader already gone insane or drunk with power?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	28. Revolution

"Revolution"

* * *

"We attack immediately," Shallowstar announces to the Clan from her mossy stump, fur abnormally bristled and expression fierce. "Birdstar expects us to mourn - she won't think we will strike back so soon. We strike now when she least expects it."

Gathered below in front of their leader, the cats of RiverClan glance around at each other, wary and thoughtful.

"We take no chances. Every warrior is going. Daisybird and Thornswipe remain here. I order Rainsong to stay and guard the camp."

"Only me?" the blue-gray mews, shocked. "Can't we leave another few warriors? What if something -"

"We need every warrior, Rainsong, if we're facing all of ThunderClan," Shallowstar booms, cutting the she-cat off. "But to look after the queen, her kits and our elder, I need one and only one warrior to stay and defend the camp. I trust you enough for that responsibility."

Rainsong bobs her head. "I understand. Thank you, Shallowstar for your praise and trust."

"Clearwater!" the gray and white feline yowls, drawing the attention of the blue tabby.

"Yes, Shallowstar?" the medicine cat steps into view.

"How is the herb supply? ThunderClan, though surprised, will put up a fierce fight. I want to make sure we have enough."

Clearwater locks eyes with her leader. "If it means anything to you, Shallowstar, I'd advise against battle. It is true, we have enough of marigold and various wound treating herbs but I fear with leaf-fall on the rise and soon after, leaf-bare, that we should focus on keeping our stores high and plentiful for when the season changes."

"I only asked if we had enough," Shallowstar snorts, breaking the contact to gaze upon the rest of the Clan whilst still talking to her medicine cat. "If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it straight out. That will be enough. Go and make travel bundles. I want you on the battlefield treating injuries off to the side. Shybee will help you make and transfer them."

"Yes, Shallowstar," Clearwater bows her head in departure, joined by the reddish-brown spotted tabby as they both slink back toward the medicine den to make the desired travel bundles of herbs.

"Everyone else has the time to eat and sharpen their claws," Shallowstar twitches her whiskers. "We leave as soon as Clearwater is prepared." She hops off the stump, instantly wandering to Frogjaw's side where she speaks with her mate in private, carrying conversation into her den.

Brownpelt watches thoughtlessly as most of the Clan disperses at Shallowstar's departure. Some mingle back to their dens for a quick nap, some remaining in the clearing, quickly grabbing a fast meal to quench their hunger before the battle starts. The chestnut warrior cranes his head around, already having lost Tansyspot to a heartfelt conversation with Ripplemask. His dark hazel eyes peer around the fading crowd, hoping to have a better chance of spotting his pale furred brother who he doesn't remember seeing at the meeting.

He totters around on his paws, seeking out all of his brother's hiding places. He skirts around to the apprentice den, almost disappointed at its emptiness. Since Featherpaw was the only apprentice since Shybee, the den was officially empty until Daisybird's kits were old enough. Still finding the den vacant of any life, Brownpelt wanders away in search of another spot: the medicine den.

"Clearwater, have you seen Nutfur?" the tomcat asks immediately upon entering, almost walking into a pile of stacked herbs before the blue-gray tabby can shriek.

"Don't step on those!"

"Ah! I'm sorry," the male feline pulls back, weaving around the stacks. "I was just wondering if you've seen Nutfur? I don't think he was there during Shallowstar's announcement."

"No I have not," the she-cat meows hurriedly, frantically snatching some various leaves and compiling them into a bundle.

"Shybee?" Brownpelt looks to the spotted tabby.

"Sorry, I haven't seen him either. If he's not in the warrior's den, I'd check Featherpaw's grave. He was there when we buried him."

The grave. Of course.

"Thanks Shybee," Brownpelt ducks out of the den in a rush, careful not to invoke Clearwater's frenzied wrath while avoiding any other strewn about herbs. Light on his paws, he bounds around in and out of the clearing, chasing the breeze out past the reed barrier to the burial grounds in the soft earth behind the camp. He pads around the outskirts, the soil plush and pliable beneath his paws. He ducks around a mass of thick fronds, nearly tripping over his own paws when his ears pick up a rough voice. Instantly, he hides under the nearest bush, listening in.

"You, uh, told me something a while ago," Nutfur's voice is gravelly and sore sounding, like the very action of talking is painful. His voice sounds off - like he had been crying. "Back when Shallowstar, first um, when Shallowstar first made you my- my apprentice. You, uh, apologized to me. Well, actually. . . actually you um, you _tried_ to apologize to me. I pointedly refused. I didn't think you meant it so I refused to accept it. But uh, come recent events. . . I think you've more than earned the right. Hear that you fishface?" His tone drops, a harsh quiver and a shuddering whine. "You earned the right to apologize. And you know what? I accept! I. Forgive. You. I forgive you! Now you're supposed to stare back with that goofy face - that confused little quirky face. You're supposed to break out into a smile and order me to stop being so sappy and get back to training. You're supposed to -"

"Nutfur," Brownpelt softly intervenes, startling the other cat from his words.

"Oh, for StarClan's sake it's only you," Nutfur sighs in relief, having jumped around to face the intruder. "What is it?"

"Shallowstar called for a Clan meeting earlier," his younger informs, stepping out from his shadowy hiding place. "I don't know if you heard it or not."

"The battle right?"

"Mmhmm."

The elder warrior releases a growl under his breath, letting his claws prick into the earth. "Is she ready to leave?"

Brownpelt shakes his head. "Not yet. She's waiting on Clearwater to finish up her travel bundles. She's coming with us to treat injuries on the battlefield.

"Better hope she'll be treating ThunderClan's wounds after what they did to Featherpaw," Nutfur throatily growls, scoring claw marks into the ground. "I'll make them pay for sure."

"Look," Brownpelt meows carefully, resting his longer tail atop his brother's spine. "I know you really cared about Featherpaw, but don't be blinded by revenge."

"You don't understand Brownpelt," Nutfur's voice drops to the cusp of a snarl. "Stingheart was the one who bit his throat out."

Brownpelt bristles, the very mention of that hazel-eyed charmer sending an agitated ripple through his fur.

"Still," he meows sternly. "Remember that death isn't always the way."

"It isn't?" Nutfur hisses scathingly. "Well correct me if I'm wrong, but if death isn't the way, then why'd Stingheart murder my apprentice? No, that lump of frog dung is going to get what's coming to him, mark my words."

Brownpelt stifles a sigh but settles down next to Nutfur as they both overlook the mound of dirt that represents Featherpaw's grave. Among the plot of land, there's multiple piles. Somewhere in the recently dug, there's a mound with a few rocks at the headstone next to a set of pike bones in honor to RiverClan's former leader. Much like Pikestar's, Featherpaw's place of resting was marked in a special way enforced by Shallowstar. There is a small collection of stones, holding down a set of various bird feathers in order to keep the breeze from taking them. Among them: jay feathers, magpie feathers, duck feathers, goose feathers.

Neither knows how long they sit there, staring as the faint wind gathers up their fur in it's soft caress. A noticeable lapse of time passes before Lashtail shuffles out from the growth of foliage.

"Hey kiddos," he meows with a tone of warm affection but underlying worry. "Shallowstar's gathering up the warriors. We're about ready to leave. Wouldn't want you to be left behind."

"Thank you, Lashtail," Brownpelt looks over his shoulder to offer a small smile.

"Yeah, thanks," Nutfur says in a colder voice, rising to his paws and immediately wandering off back toward the main clearing, claws aching to sink into some ThunderClanner's pelt and plainly wreak havoc.

"Is he all right?" Lashtail queries, skeptically looking after his oldest adopted son.

"No less than usual," Brownpelt shrugs helplessly. "He's been very moody since Featherpaw died. I think he wants revenge."

"I don't see why," Lashtail glances back at his other adopted kit. "He'll get another apprentice. Shallowstar trusted him enough. Daisybird's kits will take a while to grow up, but perhaps he'll train one of them."

"You don't understand," the chestnut tom sighs, padding up to the senior warrior and beyond, carrying their conversation back through the fronds. "Featherpaw wasn't just Nutfur's apprentice. He was his _friend._ Their relationship was meaningful. Nutfur feels like he caused Featherpaw's death. It's a very emotional time."

"Well, he can get his revenge when we fight ThunderClan. Don't know how well it'll go though. Revenge only helped for a little while before the guilt consumed you."

* * *

Shallowstar stands poised and at attention, overlooking her Clan with a proud, albeit malicious grin. Her tail swishes, brushing up against a bit of the reed barrier, watching a variety of blinking eyes stare back at her with a multitude of expressions. Some of doubt, some of worry, some of indifference, some of revenge.

"Contrary to belief, this isn't just about Featherpaw," Shallowstar explains, head aloft. "Yes, those cowards across the stream did steal the life of my youngest but no doubt they've been a thorn in my side ever since Pikestar created their compromise. In my opinion, Pikestar was too soft in his old age. He became sentimental. He offered his territory to the other Clans far too often. It gives us a generous image, but also one that RiverClan is a bunch of pushovers. When Pikestar made the compromise with ThunderClan, who's to say that WindClan wouldn't take advantage of our generosity? As a true leader of a Clan, I'm putting an end to this era. RiverClan cats are not pushovers. RiverClan cats are powerful. RiverClan cats are admirable. RiverClan cats are strong!"

A chorus of agreeing yowls cry up from the crowd, boosting the she-cat's ego and her speech.

"ThunderClan has a lot of things coming to them. It's time we showed them their place." Her teeth and eyes glint, sharp and dangerous in a way that resembles Pantherstar. "ThunderClan will bleed. Leave no warrior unscathed."

When the powerful gray and white feline whirled around, chasing the wind out of camp, Nutfur was already sprinting to catch up, a similar grin on his face and bloodlust on his mind. Running alongside Reedrush and Sunpath, he observed that both warriors were just as eager to dish out some pent up frustration over the death of their youngest brother.

An aura of unspoken silence follows the Clan as they rush through the reeds and splash through the river, shaking out their pelts on the other side. Most cats look to Shallowstar for words but the RiverClan leader says nothing, leading her Clan up over Sunningrocks and into the depths of ThunderClan's undergrowth at a steady pace.

The sky darkens marginally to represent the passage of time as the ambiance settles into a cooling, dusky glow. The trees cast slithering shadows across the forest floor, drawn out by the light of the setting sun. Twigs snap from careless paws, followed by the quick hissing of clanmates warning the others to be quiet while there is still a decent amount of daylight leaving their attack party visible. Tree roots are stepped over and thorn patches are avoided completely. Prey hides in their burrows, sensing the onslaught of felines romping through their forest.

Nutfur's pelt prickles with anticipation, claws eagering scraping up bits of soil as he walks with the thought of bloodshed. Loosely beside him, Brownpelt observes his sibling with a wary glance.

"Don't lose yourself," he murmurs, lowering his voice as to not get caught by one of the others in their shushing escapade. "I know you want revenge for Featherpaw. We all do."

"It's not just Featherpaw," Nutfur argues in reply, quiet and rough. "Didn't you hear Shallowstar? It's RiverClan's time to shine. We're not pushovers. We need to assert ourselves. Putting ThunderClan in their place is what they deserve. I'll do whatever is necessary to prove this."

Brownpelt winces. "I'm just saying, don't do anything stupid."

Nutfur snorts.

And so Brownpelt becomes even more worried when his elder doesn't respond with words. But he doesn't have time to interject upon this development before Shallowstar's largely plumed tail shoots up like a straight fluffy stick, calling the attention of her clanmates.

"Make no mistake, ThunderClan deserves punishment," the leader meows coldly, voice sharp like ice. "All of ThunderClan, be it kit or elder, needs to witness RiverClan's wrath. We are not leaving without victory."

"For RiverClan," the pale warrior growls under his breath, an unsettling gleam in his emerald eyes.

"For RiverClan," Brownpelt tries to offer his sentiment, though told in a much more wary tone of voice.

There's barely a second for silent pause before the muscles beneath the gray coat ripple and Shallowstar throws herself through the remaining barrier of undergrowth, tearing into the large open clearing with an ear-splitting yowl.

The rest of RiverClan are subjected to startled cries and the blossoming echoes of battle before joining their leader in the throes of violent passion.

Brownpelt barrels in after his brother, eyes frantically scanning ThunderClan's clearing for a quick analysis of their campgrounds. Already he sees the interrupted ThunderClan warriors, their time for evening sharing tongues broken up by the violence flickering with every paw swipe and vicious snarl.

Splashtail and Cloudyhaze pursue a frightened Volewhisker deeper into camp. Minnowrunner fights up close and personal with Ebonyfoot. Smoothfur and Reedrush tag team against a suddenly more brutal Silverhawk and Flowerhaze. Duskbelly and Sunpath lash out at Sunstrike, cornering the ginger and black tom toward the back of the clearing toward the leader's den. Clearwater and Shybee huddle off to the side, awaiting eagerly with the herb bundles. There's only a few moments of passing before Ripplemask must resign from her offensive attack against Bramblenose and must see the medicine cat and her temporary apprentice for some quick pastes to cover up her recently acquired gashes of nasty nature.

Heeding his mate's words, Frogjaw dives for the nursery, Redbriar at his flank. They manage to slip inside before a furiously screeching Pineberry catches on to their actions, chasing after them in order to protect Copperfur and her youth.

Brownpelt finds himself tackled to the ground, limb locked prior to being attacked. He flails and discovers his opponent to be a pair - Amberpaw and Leafpaw. Two upstanding apprentices with fury written all over their faces.

"Mangeface!" Amberpaw spits, refusing to be shaken up over the intensity of RiverClan's onslaught and swipes unsheathed claws at Brownpelt's face.

"You think you can beat us in our own camp?" Leafpaw adds with an acidic voice of dripping venom.

Refusing to be baited by their trash talk, Brownpelt keeps his mouth shut with any future scornful comments. Instead, he throws out an aimless slash, driving Amberpaw back a few steps. While his momentum carries him in the direction of his paw swipe, Leafpaw moves in with a ferocious bite on the opposite side, driving her small, but sharp fangs into the tomcat's shoulder. In response, the chestnut warrior screeches, his own cries lost to the roars of battle around him.

The tag team pair works well with one another Brownpelt soon figures out when he lashes out at Leafpaw, only to find Amberpaw ducking around to the other side to deliver a fierce counterattack unseen. And thus, when Brownpelt whirls around, the cycle continues and it's Leafpaw's turn to lash out, drawing blood from his flank or his cheek or wherever she can run her claws through. The ThunderClan apprentices complement each other's fighting techniques, almost as if they'd trained to work in pairs. RiverClan never had such a system. Like the majority, the Clan of the river settled on the basics and taught simply between mentor an apprentice - the only difference being the extra training in the water specially taught by RiverClan cats.

The young warrior feels his pelt grow increasingly hot with the sticky mesh of blood plastered over his fur. He barely gets to lash out at one apprentice before the other has already darted away and struck from behind. It's an efficient plan and unfortunately, Brownpelt is unable to keep up and continues to be on the receiving end of all backlash. It isn't until the red liquid drips down into his eye from a hit to the head before he realizes that he needs to find Clearwater to get his gashes cleaned and patched up. He tries to fight his way out but Amberpaw and Leafpaw pursue him and keep him from getting far. Not to mention, the warrior has no clue where Clearwater has set up her travel medicine den.

Suddenly, there's a sharp accent of pain at his throat and he whirls around in time to see Leafpaw retracting her clawed appendage and in the heat of the moment, Brownpelt can only think of one name to call in his panicked stupor.

 _"Nutfur!"_

Surprisingly enough, the scream reaches its intended target who stands a good few fox lengths away in the throes of battle with another foe.

Nutfur's bloodlust haze blinks away as the cry reaches his ears. He's suddenly all too aware of Stingheart's throat in his jaws where he's crushing the other warrior's windpipe as revenge for what happened to Featherpaw. Deeming his brother more important, Nutfur spits out the mass of bloody fur and barely listens to Stingheart's gasp and inhale as he struggles to breathe properly again. Alive but heavily injured, Stingheart scrambles away, hiding in the mob of fighting warriors.

Nutfur throws himself around the hissing and snarling felines, eyes furiously bouncing from one cat to another in order to find that familiar chestnut pelt hiding somewhere. It takes much longer than anticipated - Brownpelt's brown pelt being mostly covered in hot, sticky blood. Nonetheless, Nutfur's emerald eyes light up in rage, roaring savagely akin to a lion which sends Amberpaw and Leafpaw running with their tails tucked beneath their legs. Almost instantaneously, Nutfur is at his brother's side, offering a shoulder to lean on when the younger inevitably starts slumping over.

"N- _Nut-_ fur," Brownpelt chokes up a little, coughing as he leans on his stockier sibling.

"Don't talk," Nutfur admonishes, whirling his head around to peer around the battle. "We need to get you to Clearwater. Now. Come on." He starts walking in a random direction, slow enough for a limping Brownpelt to keep pace.

The younger coughs again, harsh and strangled. Unseen and hidden by the copious amounts everywhere, he spits up crimson droplets. Weary with the blood loss and sudden burst of fatigue, Brownpelt pulls away from his support system and slumps down to the ground on his side - the ultimate sign of giving up. "Doesn't mat-ter," he rasps. "Sh- _he's_ somewhere an it doesen matter."

"It does matter for StarClan's sake!" Nutfur hisses, darting right back to his fallen brother. "Get back up on those paws. Now! We'll get you to Clearwater - I don't think she's equipped to come out here."

Brownpelt's flanks rise and fall rapidly, struggling to breathe through his wounded throat. "But I'm so tired, Nutfur. I just wanna rest. . . rest here for a moment." His eyes turn glassy, fluttering shut behind fatigued lids much to the frightened dismay of his elder brother who quickly rushes to perch at his side and begins pawing at the younger's face.

"Come on, fish-brain! Open those eyes - don't you dare close them!"

"Enngh," Brownpelt murmurs as a reply, voice incredibly hoarse. "It hurts so much. . . I'll just rest it off. . ."

"Just keep breathing," Nutfur's voice drops, loud enough to be heard but no longer a full blown scream. "It's going to be alright. Focus on me - your big brother Nutfur. And you're my pain in the tail little brother. It's okay, it's okay. Hey, hey, keep those eyes open. Fight it, it's going to be okay. Shh, shh, shhh."

Brownpelt whimpers, vocals cracking with every noise he tries to make. "Pl- _ease_. _Yo-_ u got... you've got to... _let me go..."_

"Don't say that stuff, bud. We'll make it through this. The two of us, just like always. Nutfur and Brownpelt, together to the end. I can't have you dropping off before it's your time, eh frogface?" Nutfur forces himself to chuckle, internally screaming with the thoughts of inevitable heartbreak.

The wounds keep bleeding, a river of ruby flowing into a deep puddle around the victim. Brownpelt's voice quits, eyes rolling into the back of his skull with a defeated whine as his lids shut for the last time. His flanks stop heaving so quickly, stilled in their motions for good. There's a final second where the last exhale of air shoots past the damaged throat, but never achieves another inhale.

Rigid with fear, Nutfur's blood runs cold. His jaw opens so a sliver of noise could slip out in the most heartbreaking wail known to feline history.

The wail of a cat who lost their family.

 _"Brownpelt!"_

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Casualty count: #2_

 _This one you had to see coming. It was either Nutfur or Brownpelt and Brownpelt drew the short end of the stick. yay. But oh my gosh Nutfur, these next few chapters are going to be rough on you... First your apprentice then your brother? Anyone predicting emotional troubles?  
_

 _Also, fun fact, I've created a small one-shot about our lovely little former medicine cat. Anyone curious as to what immediately happened after his untimely demise? I highly recommend reading_ **Featherpaw's Fall.**

 _ **BrightMind** : Welp, get ready for another emotional roller coaster because now the death count has increased and Nutfur's sanity is quickly fading~ _

_Brownpelt was just being petty because he didn't like that Tansyspot was such good friends with a ThunderClan cat. Everyone knows it's okay to have friendships with the other Clans you're just not allowed to let those friendships cloud your judgement when the time comes. Brownpelt was worried for Tansyspot. He knew the consequences of other Clan relations and he didn't want Tansyspot to end up bearing another Clan's kits based on fleeting thoughts of love. But still, Stingheart is still a loyal cat who makes mistakes and certainly regrets them._

 _Well I guess Shybee doesn't take to kindly to sibling deaths. :3 Challenge his mother he will. As for Cedarstripe? He was only deputy after Bouldernose died off. Potentially he and Birdstar could be mates but as far as I wrote and planned, Cedarstripe was Featherpaw's father and that's about it._

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype** : Stingheart is morally interesting to me. He's kind of a jerk but he regretted being the one who killed Featherpaw. He's not malicious, he just makes interesting choices. _

_Indeed ThunderClan did kill one of RiverClan. Not to mention the leader's youngest son. I dunno if she's justified for this level of bloodshed though..._

 _ **SuperBailey** : Haha, too late XD_

 _Be very scared for ThunderClan. Shallowstar has invoked her wrath. I guess next chapter we'll see who she annihilated because let's be real, it wasn't just RiverClan cats who died._

 _QotC: Fun-not-so-fun fact, Brownpelt was not the only RiverClan casualty in this battle. There's another cat who died but with the focus on Nutfur and Brownpelt, their death was not mentioned. Care to take a guess who the other cat is who died?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	29. Devastation

"Devastation"

* * *

"Stop, stop, stop! For StarClan's sake, _stop!"_

Birdstar's wretched cry echoes through the camp, fanning from the front of her den toward the clearing outskirts where the far battle is taking place.

"RiverClan, halt!"

Shallowstar joins in, breathy and shrill as she calls for her Clan's attention. From the mass there are a few scattered yowls before the noise level dies and the aimless clawing and swiping ceases. The jumbled mix of ThunderClan and RiverClan look up at the high rock where the leaders perch.

Nearly half of Birdstar's face is bathed in crimson. Her left ear split and one of her eyes closed. Those closest can see the tortoiseshell's pelt matted with blood - a majority of it splashed on her flanks. Similarly, Shallowstar's gray and white pelt is also joined with a new stark red hue. Her muzzle is bloody, as are her paws. Some places on her white underbelly are now that same dark shade of blood where Birdstar had undoubtedly sliced across as much as she could.

The ThunderClan leader faces Shallowstar with a look of murderous rage. "You," she growls, loud and accusatory. "You selfish. . . cruel. . . heartless. . . daughter of a sleaze! How could you do something this horrible?"

Shallowstar pants heavily, glaring. "It is you, Birdstar, who is the cruel and heartless one. ThunderClan took the life of my son. My Clan and I are here to pay our respects."

"Are you satisfied then?" Birdstar snarls, baring fangs stained with blood smears. "You have taken one of my lives, the life of my deputy, the life of one of my warriors, and the lives of two innocent kits. Are. You. Satisfied?"

"Never," RiverClan's leader sneers, curling her lip as she bounds off the rock.

"Mark my words, Shallowstar," Birdstar growls shakily from her perch. "RiverClan has crossed the line and will be punished for their wrongdoings."

Shallowstar pauses, craning her head around to fix the tortoiseshell with a powerful stare. "Consider them marked." Her own fuzzy crown held high, Shallowstar struts through the rest of the camp's clearing, gathering her own warriors in her wake. She catches the eye of her mate and daughter, both bearing smears of red on their muzzles as they pad away from the nursery and fall into line behind the victorious leader. She ignores the gross sobbing from inside the bramble lined hollow.

Clearwater and Shybee emerge from their hiding spot in the shadows, carrying the few remaining parcels of herbs that hadn't been used in the heat of the battle and were certain to be used once the whole of RiverClan returned to their camp. A heavily patched up Ripplemask follows them.

Splashtail and Cloudyhaze, both mostly unscathed, trot up from the sidelines, joining the ever growing mass of victorious RiverClan cats.

Somewhere in the middle of the parting cats, Minnowrunner, Sunpath, Duskbelly, Smoothfur, Reedrush and Mistbloom mingle their way into the crowd.

The last to move is Nutfur who still remains frozen by his brother's side, immobile.

Tansyspot breaks away from the rest of the Clan, returning to the pale warrior with tears in her eyes. Deeming Nutfur to be too deep in stunned headspace, she bends down and starts draping the limp corpse of Brownpelt across her back.

The motionless Nutfur suddenly starts growling low in his throat but makes no inclination of moving on his wordless threat.

"You're in no condition to carry him," Tansyspot's voice breaks slightly under the wrought of her own emotions, continuing until the body of her lover is nestled on her back. "You just walk and I'll carry him."

Again Nutfur growls, though much lower and more resigned. He complies and lifelessly rises to his own sore paws. When the calico looks into the warrior's eyes, she doesn't see life. She sees a hollow, empty vacancy which sends a chill down her spine.

"Come on then," she whispers, starting to trail after the rest of RiverClan.

Blankly, Nutfur follows.

* * *

"Warriors! RiverClan has returned victorious!" Shallowstar booms upon her arrival to camp, instantly bounding toward the mossy stump where she makes announcements. "I doubt ThunderClan will be so quick to attack with the beating we gave them." Her sadistic smile fades and it seems that the callous leader begins to realize their own loss. "Sadly, Reedrush has informed me of our casualties on the return trip home. While we managed to take some of ThunderClan lives, they took the lives of Lashtail and Brownpelt. As proper tradition, we shall begin the mourning process and Thornswipe will take care of the burial site."

Nutfur's head whips up, shaken from his paralyzed stupor of his brother's demise.

Lashtail too?

Oh StarClan, no.

Not his Uncle Lashtail.

Still, the pale warrior remains at his brother's side.

Much of the Clan parts. Akin to Featherpaw's mourning, many of the other warriors were not close enough to form a solid bond with the deceased. Only Featherpaw's family and various others including Nutfur had overseen the honoring and the burial. And like before, Brownpelt's and Lashtail's memorial pool was limited.

Ripplemask. Nutfur wasn't so sure to label her as anything. Certainly Ripplemask and Lashtail were close friends but he had never heard any gossip of them being actual mates.

Tansyspot. Of course. The new mate overcome with grief and sadness. Nutfur's heart pangs a little for her. The chestnut tom and the calico she-cat had limited time together after both confessed their feelings. Now the lass would have to spend her days alone without the comfort of another tom.

Minnowrunner. Brownpelt's mentor. She sits close to the deceased, breathing softly with her lips creased into a frown. She saw her apprentice become a warrior for all of a few moons.

Thornswipe. For Lashtail. An older friend of the great ruddy brown tom settles down to pay his respects.

And who can forget the haggard pale cat himself? Nutfur knows both of the fallen, having been raised by one and raised the other. When Oakfrost passed, Nutfur and Brownpelt as kittens were left without parents. Lashtail and Ripplemask were the ones who stepped up and offered to raise the tiny scraps of fur. Despite being Uncle Lashtail, the old graying feline was more a father than Nutfur's blood-linked kin. With Pikestar's announcement all those moons ago, young Nutpaw was apprenticed under the experienced and revered Lashtail. When Nutfur's training paid off long enough for him to become a warrior, many would have thought that the pair would be more inseparable but sadly, Lashtail and Nutfur grew apart.

Nutfur had a wiry Brownpaw to watch over, after all. Brownpaw was always held in high regard. Brownpaw came first. Above everything, Brownpaw's needs were given priority. Anytime the poor scrap of chestnut fur had a nightmare, Nutfur's nest was always shared. No questions asked.

Sharing meals, sharing laughs, sharing everything.

Nutfur supposes he felt a blossom of jealousy root in his heart when Brownpelt found his own feet. As a warrior, he told off his older brother by saying he didn't need him anymore. That conversation stung bitterly. Tansyspot remained in the picture, though featuring a more prominent role now that Brownpelt confessed his love for the darling female. She was pleasant enough and Nutfur saw his klutz of a brother constantly dote from afar, displaying looks of total longing. It was a good match. Shame they only had so little time to try and fully embrace their love.

But Nutfur and Brownpelt. They were inseparable. As kits they stuck to one another like warts on a toad or minnows to a puddle. They were always together.

So now what?

Clearwater answers the unspoken of the moment, announcing her presence at Nutfur's side with a nose touch to his shoulder. When the tom turns his head around, slow and tired-eyed, he spots the pale flowers in her jaw and a bundle of wet moss in her paws before she nudges them forward appropriately and wordlessly. With her mouth free, the bluish tabby quirks her lip a little. Sad and sympathetic, yet with an underlying flicker of hopes for better days ahead.

The pale warrior slumps down to his haunches, starting the cleaning process to his dead brother's fur. He had seen Clearwater do something similar to his Featherpaw - wash away the dirt and the blood. And oh StarClan, there was many a blood stain on this poor brown cat's coat. The patches of crimson dried around the wounds, no longer gushing blood as they had been during the intense battle. Around his throat, flanks, face, legs. . . so much red.

While cleaning, Nutfur is unable to fight off the clench in his heart. Brownpelt should _not_ have died this day. Had he been doomed to die on the battlefield, Nutfur prayed to StarClan that it would be honorable: fighting off a fierce enemy and suddenly struck from behind from a foul, fox-hearted rogue before Nutfur would avenge his sibling and murder the attacker in cold blood. But this didn't happen according to his plan. No. Brownpelt should _not_ have died this way. There was nothing honorable about bleeding to death from two apprentices with intent to maim. Brownpelt had let his guard down in the heat of his first battle, and in the process he had let down his big brother. The chestnut warrior let a careless swipe slash his throat and couldn't fight it long enough to find Clearwater and get himself patched up.

No.

Because Brownpelt was a quitter.

Brownpelt was careless and foolish.

He wasn't up to the task of fighting for revenge and curse the stars, Featherpaw's death _needed_ to be fought for. Featherpaw _needed_ redemption.

But was Brownpelt up for it?

No!

He _quit._

He let himself bleed out on the battlefield - the ultimate give up.

The ultimate failure.

 _No. . ._

Nutfur refuses to remember his brother this way.

Brownpelt was a noble warrior.

Kind, a bit soft-hearted, too much of a worrywart, but noble nonetheless. He made friends rather easily, which was odd considering most cats' opinions on his kind. Immediately smitten with a young Tansypaw, the chestnut tom had pranced around trying to gain her affection while being the best he could be. He hunted, he trained, he fought, all for the glory and prosperity of his Clan.

Brownpelt was a warrior of RiverClan through and through.

No one deserves to be remembered only by their wrongdoings.

Remember them for all the good they did while they were alive.

Remember them for the positives. Remember them for the stories. Remember them for their accomplishments.

Remember them for who they are.

A sad smile plays on Nutfur's muzzle, confusing those around him in immediate proximity. The pale warrior, finished with his cleaning, starts weaving the lavender into the cold, wet fur, allowing the purple blooms to settle and waft a pleasing scent into the air. Then, once all of the given flowers are tucked away into the long locks of chestnut brown fur, Nutfur settles down near his sibling's flank, placing his muzzle atop his side and heaving out a gust of air through his nose. He licks his chops, a soft smack of his lips resonating through the silence before his eyes gently close.

Ten seconds of mere peace pass until a deep, guttural moan echoes from the center of camp. Cats cast their gazes at the bodies at the center, pausing when they spot a shuddering pale shape releasing heaving breaths wrought with wet sobs.

Nutfur's heart clenches deep once again. His eyelids scrunch up and he grits his teeth, barring them as if he were in physical pain. Through his locked fangs, he wails, hissing and spitting his frustration into the fur of his brother. No words are spoken, just the cries of a broken warrior.

The mismatched calico creeps closer, touching her bright wet nose to the head of her mate.

Nutfur's head whips up again, his broad paw making a swiping motion in order to drive Tansyspot away. His goal is reached when she squeals, backing up a few good paces.

"Nutfur! Let her mourn!" Minnowrunner snarls, up on her feet and pelt bristled enough to imitate a thorn bush. "Brownpelt was someone special to many of us - not just you!"

"He's my brother! He's mine to mourn! Alone!" Nutfur howls in response, stamping his feet as hot tears bathe his emeralds once again.

"Brownpelt was a warrior of RiverClan," insists the pale tabby warrior, scoring claw marks into the soil. "He deserves to be honored by his kin."

"His kin!" hisses Nutfur. "I am his kin!"

"We all are!" Minnowrunner yells louder, shaking the other warrior's eardrums. "And if you don't let anyone else mourn your brother besides yourself, I will personally shred your other ear."

The threat strikes a chord in Nutfur's heart and the tom relents, pulling away in a secluded, submissive gesture as he flops down back at Brownpelt's side. He doesn't spare a glance when a tentative Tansyspot slinks closer, resuming her spot by the chestnut's head, her muzzle touching his. Minnowrunner goes unnoticed as well when the warrior's former mentor settles down at her prodigy's spine.

The camp goes silent.

Heavy with the musk of death.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Heyy, have a belated update. Here we get an insight of some darker intentions for some characters. We have Nutfur starting to spiral, which leads to some flared tempers and high emotions. And who could forget about lovely lovely Shallowstar? Our wonderful leader who will never be satisfied. (Wink wink to any Hamilton fans out there.) She's got blood on her mind while walking the border line of sanity and insanity._

 _RiverClan's gonna undergo some interesting developments I'd say._

 _ **Starrysong Summer Hype :** yessssss_

 _Clearwater, Reedrush, and Stingheart - though barely - have yet to kick the bucket. Wonderful old Lashtail took his final breath on the battlefield along with his adopted nephew._

 _Poor Nutfur indeed._

 _I guess we'll find out later~_

 _ **BrightMind :** Fair enough, the plot does seem to be all over the place but when I wrote the outline, our story has a definitive and wholesome ending. I wrote the story to end how it will and while the whole destiny thing seems to the be main focus, once it failed thanks to our rebellious protagonists, there's really only a few ways to go from there. I personally chose the darkest path littered with thorns. The omen/destiny arc ended with Featherpaw's death. Brownpelt's death spurred another, albeit brief, arc that I'll explain more in depth the further we go along. _

_And yes, even Nutfur recalls how stupid his brother's death is. Writer's choice it seems. However, I will say that Brownpelt does get his redemption chance that will be written for later on in these last few chapters._

 _QotC: Featherpaw's dead. Brownpelt's dead. Lashtail's dead. So what shall befall our precious Nutfur?  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	30. Depression

"Depression"

* * *

"Is it your wish to give up your name of a warrior and go to join the elders?"

"It is indeed."

"RiverClan honors you and all the service you have given us. I call upon StarClan to give you many seasons of rest."

"Ripplemask! Ripplemask!"

The Clan cheers in respect for the elderly warrior as she relinquishes her title and meanders off in search of pleasant retirement. She's offered many moons to her Clan, all well lived for. However, the death of Lashtail was the final straw and the aging she-cat felt her bones creak at the thought of fighting more. She had a well earned rest ahead of her.

The ceremony still rings in everyone's heads but to Nutfur, the booming announcement might as well have just been white noise for he can't hear anything over his own thoughts about his brother lying dead in a recently dug grave.

 _You should be the one a tail length under._

 _Brownpelt should be alive._

 _You should have protected him more._

 _Why are you so useless?_

 _Why do you constantly fail?_

 _You are a horrible warrior._

 _An even worse family member._

So wrapped up in his headspace, he doesn't realize immediately that he wandered off concluding the numb ceremony and stopped in front of the aforementioned grave - another plot of land requested to be created right next to Featherpaw's.

Brownpelt's grave is nothing special, sadly. Unlike the symbolism of bird feathers or pike bones, Brownpelt doesn't have anything physical to remember him by aside from his brown coat. On impulse, Nutfur took some of his own pale brown fur, sprinkling it atop the dirt but the scraps of fur were quickly taken away by the wind. Now he just sits there, thinking, pondering on how to give his little brother a noteworthy legacy. Something besides aimless brown scraps of fur.

Nutfur paws at the soil, scraping away a small pawful before reshaping it once again on the mound. Idly, he scores his claws in criss cross patterns, flicking away the dappled leaves that fall from the trees in vivid shades of orange, red, and yellow. He tilts his muzzle skyward, a small shiver to his pelt as he does so, gazing listlessly at the sheer paleness of the blue-gray sky.

It's a cold, pale morning.

Leaf-fall.

Nutfur's ear twitches. He scrapes away a little more of the dirt before grunting, rising back to all fours. He arches out his spine, grateful to hear the line of bones crack and relax with a shudder. All stretched out, his blank mind seeks a thought to cling on to.

Perhaps a hunt to get his blood pumping.

He saunters out in a gentle loping stride, bouncing along the marshy earth with quick pawsteps. The reed stalks run against his fur, an odd combination of comfortable and unpleasant. With precise steps, his speed falters the appropriate amount in order to get a good hunt out of his expedition.

The pale warrior keeps his limbs close to his body. Thanks to his bobtail, he doesn't feel the need to worry about keeping his tail straight and still unlike the other cats with their long, fluffy appendages. His nose twitches, guiding him closer to the riverside territory wherein he hopes to catch a water vole. Slinking through the reeds with utmost silence is the important key when hunting.

Lashtail had said so in his lessons.

Oh Lashtail.

If only. . .

No.

Nutfur shakes his head. Now is not the time for unwanted emotions. He's here to hunt and be useful to the Clan.

He reaches the edge of the reeds, his body still hidden by the foliage as he stares out at the open shoreline. He cranes his head around, nose wrinkling for the scent. He doesn't dare quite slink out into the open yet - there's a better reward for those who wait. Managing to keep his emotions in check, he subconsciously licks his chops at the sight of the water vole cresting over the soil mound, having returned from a munch on the riverside plants.

With a loud, reed snapping pounce, Nutfur barrels from the foliage and startles the vole. Luckily, the creature is so overcome with panic that it freezes and its body refuses to move as the warrior sinks his claws into its body. The pale cat digs his fangs into the vole's neck, instantly killing it so it no longer squeals. Satisfied with his vent catch, Nutfur lifts his head from the ground, fresh prey clamped in his teeth, and sluggishly trots back to camp.

There are a few scattered conversations bouncing around in the clearing - RiverClan sharing midday tongues - but they suddenly falter as Nutfur makes his entrance through the reed barrier. Wary eyes fall upon him, anticipating a major move from the pale tom but he just snorts, veering away from the other cats of the Clan and padding off toward the medicine den. A safe space. Harbinger of bad memories and thoughts of a certain raven black cat but the den as a whole is a safe space nonetheless.

"Clearwater," he meows softly, voice sore and rough from a lack of speaking for a lengthy period of time.

The blue-gray female turns around from her place sorting herbs, gaze locking onto the vole at the warrior's paws. "Oh," she says in surprise, a small upturn of her muzzle, "thank you, Nutfur. I have yet to eat. This is wonderful, but you should get something for yourself if you haven't already."

Nutfur shrugs, tapping some of his claws on the earth. "It's all fine, Clearwater. I'm not hungry. I just wanted a place to sit down and rest for a little while." He takes the paw that was tapping the ground and uses it to fling the vole closer to the medicine cat who quickly catches it in her own slender paws. While the she-cat smiles gratefully, bending down to eat her meal, Nutfur shuffles off to the side of the den, flopping down immediately on one of the mossy nests. He closes his eyes, soaking up the silence of the den aside from Clearwater's precious little munching noises.

"No, I do not need to see her!"

Nutfur's ear flicks at the sharp, feminine voice just outside the den, a jarring contrast to the silence moments ago.

"We need everything to go right!"

At this, Nutfur scarcely lifts his head up - just enough to see two shadows fanned out on the cave side, illuminated by the sunhigh glow.

"We've discussed this. I'm still fit enough to work as a warrior. I'll move when I'm ready!"

"Go inside now!"

The squabbling just gets louder as the two cats suddenly stomp into the den, both bearing facial expressions of annoyed fury.

Minnowrunner harshly glares up at a frowning Duskbelly.

Clearwater swallows her morsel, a gross squishy slurp echoing off the walls as the final bit of vole gets chewed up in her sharp teeth. "What is the problem friends?" she mews curiously, a bit panicked at their expressions. "Duskbelly, is something wrong?"

"I'll tell you something's wrong," Minnowrunner cuts in before the brown cat can speak. "This furbrain can't get it through his head that I can still function as a warrior for at least another quarter moon!"

"Your belly is the size of the moon," Duskbelly snarks back and that's when Nutfur actually pays his full attention to the conversation. He quickly looks around the stiff-faced tomcat and over to the previously slender she-cat who definitely bears a noticeable bulge in her stomach area. Brownpelt's former mentor looks furiously ruffled and unsurprisingly uncomfortable.

"And your head must be the size of the sun with how much hot air you pour out!" seethes Minnorunner, lashing her tail.

"Darlings, darlings," croons Clearwater, strained in her voice but overall cheerful as she brings the pair's vocalizations to a standstill. "We must be peaceful. Stress is not good for either party. Especially not the kittens."

"Screw the kittens!" Minnowrunner growls loudly, still not over her bubbling anger. "I don't know if I even want to be a mother anymore! Just slit my stomach open and I won't have to deal with it!"

"Minnowrunner!" gasps Duskbelly, face visibly going pale. "You take that back! You are going to be a fine mother."

The tabby shakes her head, distraught.

Clearwater frowns, moving forward. "Nutfur," she speaks to the tomcat without making eye contact. "Minnowrunner's going to need your nest, she needs to lie down. Now. Duskbelly, help me move her."

The clump of felines mill about the den, each assigned their task. Begrudgingly, Nutfur abandons his slumbering spot where it's instantly taken over by a wailing she-cat drug in by the medicine cat and a dark furred warrior. Minnowrunner's forced on her side and the tabby groans painfully, moaning and whining with every vocalization in her arsenal.

"She's not kitting now is she?" Duskbelly demands, horrified.

"Great StarClan, no!" Clearwater says briskly, snagging a leaf of thyme for the frazzled she-cat. "She's just overly stressed. My guess, is that the two of you arguing all the time, has put her under some duress and she's responding negatively. She simply needs to calm down and take deep breaths. She needs to take some time to rest. And Nutfur needs to grab me some poppy seeds!" Her head tosses over her shoulder, calling loudly to the pale warrior huddled up in the back, trying to stay out of the way.

"Now please!" the medicine cat growls and Nutfur bolts.

He returns quickly, carrying a broad leaf holding two tiny black seeds that the tabby requested. "Here," he meows softly before scuttling out of her line of movement. A working Clearwater is a Clearwater to be avoided.

"Eat these, Minnowrunner," the blue-gray tabby orders, nudging the herbs in front of her struggling to breathe patient. The other, white and gray tabby, chokes down on a frightened sob and forces the leaf and seeds down her gullet.

Clearwater sighs heavily, watching with relief as the previously panicking female in the nest seems to regain control of her breathing and settles deeper into the mossy bedding. "All right," she mews, "I think someone needs some space. Duskbelly, I appreciate your dedication to your mate but Minnowrunner needs to rest. You'll just hover if you're in here. Go and be productive as a warrior please."

The older warrior opens his maw to say something in protest but bites his tongue, nodding in compliance. He leans forward, rasping a quick tongue lick over his mate's cheek in friendly departing before he backs out of the den in silence.

"So. . ." Nutfur whistles, speaking loosely to Minnowrunner. "You and Duskbelly?"

"Nutfur, please, leave my patient alone," Clearwater quips, ducking back to organize her stores. "Thank you for the vole but if you don't need medical assistance, I'd advise you to leave."

"But Clearwater, I hurt," Nutfur protests and instantly, the medicine cat pokes her head out from the fronds, face marred with worry.

"What? Where?" she demands, approaching furiously for inspection.

A surprisingly coy Nutfur places his paw on his chest. "Here," he says simply.

Clearwater struggles with an expression that is somehow a mix of sympathy and annoyance. She settles on addressing the sadness first. "Nutfur, we all understand that Brownpelt and Lashtail were very important cats to you in particular. I know very well your heart aches. But now is not the time to make jokes about such things. I cannot prescribe you any herbs for a broken heart. Just some thyme for shock and poppy seeds for easy sleep."

"I guess I'll just take some poppy seeds," the pale warrior finally sighs, face sobering of his smugness and plastered over once again with a facial wave of depression. "Better than trying to sleep on my own. But uh, Clearwater, can I stay here for the night? I'm not ready to go back and sleep in the warrior's den yet. Not since. . . not since, uh, since Brownpelt nested there. . ."

"Of course, darling, but I don't know why you'd want to spend time in isolation," the tabby meows sympathetically, coming back around with two black seeds. "I'd think you'd want to spend time with loved ones and your clanmates. If you share the warrior's den, perhaps you'd feel more at ease."

"I guess I'm just not at ease in that den," Nutfur admits, gulping down his given medicine and promptly licking his chops.

Clearwater opens her maw to speak but pain seems to be consistent within the Clan and Tansyspot brushes in, a wail on her lips.

"Clearwater," she whines, "My belly hurts!"

The medicine cat's attention jumps from Nutfur to the calico and she remains in paranoid mother mode. "Did you eat something bad?" she asks immediately, trying to source the pain. "Some crowfood perhaps?"

Tansyspot shakes her head, waddling closer. "It just hurts. I had some carp earlier but I didn't think it was enough to make me feel this way."

"Maybe you're just getting fat," Nutfur supplies, an edge to his voice with a spiteful snark.

Instantly, the calico shrinks into herself, anything to hide her white furred belly from sight in case the tomcat is correct and she is indeed getting plumper. If that should be the case, there's no reason anyone else should see her at such a low point. Her mismatched gaze drops in submission, muscles stung by the icy words of her clanmate.

"Nutfur!" the blue-gray tabby hisses sharply, hardening her gaze at the pale warrior. "Such a harsh thing to say! Tansyspot is not getting fat. She's probably just got a bellyache." Her face softens when she starts speaking to the calico. "Come along dear, to the back. I believe we have some watermint to help with that."

As the she-cats disappear into the back, Nutfur is left alone with a dozing Minnowrunner.

He snorts.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Oooff, this took forever but ya know this is so typical snark fashion that I don't even think I should apologize XD School started up for me a week ago and since it's my senior year, I think school takes a little more precedence over my story. Nevertheless, don't doubt my determination. This story will be finished with about three more chapters plus a pretty satisfying epilogue._

 _ **Starrysong Back to School :**_ _My lips are sealed. Minnowrunner's having kits though. I dunno if anyone remembers when I dropped a hint in a Brownpelt PoV where he noticed his old mentor waddling with a slightly bigger belly than usual.  
_

 _She knows she killed him. In her speech about killing her Clanmates, she knows Shallowstar murdered her deputy but as for the acts that Cedatstripe committed against Shallowstar that resulted in her carrying another litter of kits? Birdstar is unaware of that, yes._

 _Ooh yeah, Shallowstar isn't all that good in the head right now and her loyal mate and daughter are also a little warped in the mind. But honestly, Shallowstar deems it fair. Birdstar doesn't have kits of her own personally so Shallow gets her revenge by killing any ThunderClan kits. It just so happens to be Branchkit and Hollowkit. Poor guys._

 _QotC: We've talked favorites, now I think it's time for least favorites. Least favorite cats of the story? Can be from any Clan if you deem any of them particularly deplorable.  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	31. Isolation

"Isolation"

* * *

"Hey Nutfur, you should come join us!"

"Hmm?" the dazed warrior lifts his head having heard his name chime halfway across the clearing. It had been too long since anyone had called him by his name as an invitation for something.

The pale feline glances at who called his name - Cloudyhaze. She's sitting with Splashtail - _of course,_ his mind supplies quickly - and Sunpath as they all perch in a trio by the reed barrier.

Deeming the three harmless, Nutfur lazily pads over, expecting just about anything. "Join you for what?" he prompts, a flick to his bobtail.

"A hunting patrol!" Splashtail chimes cheerily, bouncing up and down on her paws in a show of excitement. Beside her, Cloudyhaze grins while Sunpath waves his tail a little. All three of their eyes gleam.

How can they be so upbeat?

 _It'll get your mind off everything,_ he argues to himself before he solemnly agrees with a basic nod.

"Yeah, sure," the pale warrior meows blankly.

"Great," Sunpath shoots off a small grin, recalling Nutfur's trauma and assuring himself to be careful around the distressed pale tom. "We figured that checking the river would be a good idea. It's leaf-fall but I imagine some fish would pass through."

"And if we're unlucky, we can always hunt for land prey," chirps Splashtail, ears pricked in anticipation for the patrol.

Nodding, Cloudyhaze agrees.

"Fun, fun," the golden tom purrs warmly, rising to his paws. "I'm leading. Let's go!"

Sunpath trots along at the head of the group, quickly flanked by Splashtail who's quickly chatting the tom's ear off with her endless energy. She's practically prancing on her paws, tossing aside bits of moss, dirt and plant material as she saunters around, uncaring of everything else around her.

Nutfur almost envies her carefree attitude.

Almost.

Meanwhile, Cloudyhaze hangs back and walks gently alongside Nutfur. Her plumed white tail swishes, held up high with pride, a comfortable gleam in her bright eyes that shine like the new-leaf sky. Her fluffy pelt catches in the reeds but without a passing glance she pulls ahead and ignores the little yanks to her hairs. Suddenly, she tosses her head to the side, aware of the muscular tomcat at her side.

"Nutfur," she says softly, in that ever nurturing voice of hers, "You know you have many cats who are eager to listen to you. Many have also experienced loss. You are not alone. We understand you, we can listen to you. We're here for you."

Nutfur blinks, surprised by her sweet and motherly honesty. On one paw, he's grateful for her support and the fact that she cares about him.

But the other paw disagrees horribly.

"Tch," he scoffs. "I'm fine on my own, Cloudyhaze. I don't need anyone's help." To execute his point of not needing anyone's shoulder to lean upon, the brutish, short tempered cat struts ahead with a burst of agitated speed and disappears from Cloudyhaze's sight. He tramples ahead, passing Sunpath and Splashtail without sparing them a glance.

"Nutfur," the orange female calls worriedly. "We're supposed to be hunting. It would be better if you were quiet."

There's no response, not that anyone was expecting one, so the remaining patrol advances on their path ahead toward the river where Nutfur will hopefully be.

Nutfur is indeed settled by the river's edge. He crouches down on the shoreline, poised carefully with one of his paws suspended in the air, ready to strike the water. His sharp eyes catch sight of movement and the pale tom swats out immediately, the motion failing and resulting in a huge splash riding up in front of his face.

Behind him, Splashtail snickers. "I think the goal is to catch a fish," she purrs, "not just splash in the stream."

Her laugh sends a ripple of fury down the tomcat's spine. His muzzle contorts into a deep seated frown, his lip curled back when he speaks. "Just shut up, Splashtail."

The female flinches, lowering her gaze. "I was just being funny."

"Your humor is not appreciated," Nutfur growls roughly, his words harsh as he flicks his bobtail once and stalks off further downstream.

"What's eating him?" she huffs furiously.

"Splashtail," Cloudyhaze starts, a legitimate growl to her voice as her ears pin back. "Young Nutfur has recently lost his apprentice and his brother. His mind is very troubled. He is particularly irritable. Refrain from your scornful comments."

Splashtail opens her maw to argue before she clamps them shut, her head bowed in submission with a little nod of understanding. "Yes, Cloudyhaze."

"Come on, girls," Sunpath struts ahead. "We have fish to catch."

* * *

Despite best efforts, the hunt doesn't go very well.

For Nutfur.

Cloudyhaze triumphantly carries two measly fish that are bound to provide nourishment.

Despite her namesake, Splashtail doesn't fare as well in the water, but manages to snag a curious water vole that made an untimely mistake.

Sunpath chases down a magpie, using a surprising amount of agility to speed to leap from a mound of rocks and mud, gripping the black and white bird's tail feathers and successfully dragging it to the ground where he can properly deliver a killing bite.

Splashtail and Cloudyhaze are deeply impressed.

Nutfur, on the other paw, doesn't fare well at all. Whilst hunting at the river's edge, he roots himself to a spot, determined to snag something from the quick moving waves. With nothing more than a few twigs and empty splashes of water, he comes up short and then decides to move ahead for land prey.

Unfortunately, that doesn't go well either. He scares off a mouse with an accidental snap of the reeds. The thrush he was attempting to stalk suddenly decides to flap away without warning. The water vole manages to escape back into its safe hollow.

All instances leave behind an incredibly frustrated pale warrior.

On the way back to camp, Cloudyhaze sees Nutfur preyless and offers to give him one of her fish. Much to her dismay, he snarls at her, snubbing her gratitude and stomping off further ahead.

Angry, Splashtail sets down her water vole to yell after him but the male ignores her.

He arrives at camp first, promptly snorting at the guard's - Rainsong - pleasant greeting as he passes through the reed barrier. He feels her frowning at the back of his head but he makes to motion to apologize. The entire world is just pissing him off.

He plops down in the center of camp, sitting hunched over and staring intently at his paws. While he sits there, the rest of the patrol comes back and Nutfur catches them out of the corner of his gaze, offhandedly observing them as they deposit their catch.

Smoothfur saunters up from behind, his trail leading toward the fresh kill pile but not before swooping around the light brown cat in order to speak to him.

"Stop throwing your little tantrum," the older cat sniffs, stiding past with pompous purpose. "I lost a brother too, you know. You're not special."

Nutfur loses it.

"Turn around and say that to my face, toad-breath!" The warrior snarls savagely, maw springing open with the swiftness of an adder preparing to strike - hissing, spitting, and all.

Smoothfur abruptly pauses, whirling around. "You're not special," he growls, falling for the bait. "I lost a brother too. Get over it."

"You worthless spawn of a maggot!" Nutfur roars, sparing no time in order to pounce, tearing up the earth as he charges forward.

Smoothfur, arrogant furball that he is, stands for the face off.

Nutfur slams into him, head bowed, crashing the flat part of his head into the other tom's chest. Smoothfur jumps back with the impact, lifting a foreleg with claws unsheathed and aiming for the flank. Nutfur howls, pulling aside, thrashing wildly with his own unsheathed claws. His jaws flash, his teeth snap, his throat warbles with a grumbling roar.

Smoothfur, threatened, lashes out with a forepaw, landing a solid thwack against Nutfur's severely damaged right ear.

The pale warrior's head inflames with hot white pain and fury lights up in his emerald eyes, his vision swarming with red hue. He spits saliva from his open jaw, fangs glistening.

"Nutfur!"

The furious screech from the mossy stump pulls both warriors away from their bloodlust and manages to mentally separate them from their spitting quarrel.

Bristled and pissed to the core, Shallowstar storms closer and closer to the pair in the center of the clearing. Her tail lashes, eyes cold and unforgiving. On her heels is a fearful Reedrush and an equally disgruntled Frogjaw. The very ground shakes when she walks, her fury seeping into the ground. Felines on the outskirts of the clearing cower in fear.

A furious Shallowstar is not a Shallowstar to be trifled with.

"There are no words I can say to express my disappointment for your actions!" the female hisses directly at her son and Nutfur. "You two have shamed RiverClan and everything we stand for. Smoothfur, since we have no apprentices, you are in charge of the elders for the next moon."

"But -" the sleek tom begins.

"No excuses, flea-pelt!" Shallowstar snarls. "You sealed your fate, child! Own up to your actions! Now!"

Terror shines in the tom's eyes as he finally slinks away, darting for the elder's den.

Shallowstar swivels her head around, locking eyes with the pale warrior. "And you," she starts, voice on the cusp of another snarl. "You have clearly been damaged by the aura of death. Featherpaw is gone. Brownpelt is gone. Lashtail is gone. You are not clear-headed. You are dangerous to my Clan. You, Nutfur, are volatile, unpredictable. . . an untrustworthy fox. Until further notice, you are banished from warrior duties. It will do you well to take residence in the medicine den. Clearwater will be able to curb your violence. I am not risking my warriors' safety in the den if you're in it. Now get lost."

Flinching at the leader's harsh tone, Nutfur can't force himself to snap back at her. He goes lip-locked, his rebuttal dying in his throat. Forced by her expectant stare, Nutfur finds the energy back in his legs, padding away from his leader and trotting off quickly for the medicine den. Within a second, it's a rushed sprint, frustrated tears springing at his eyes.

 _"Featherpaw is gone."_

 _"Brownpelt is gone."_

 _"Lashtail is gone."_

 _"You are dangerous to my Clan."_

 _"...an untrustworthy fox."_

 _"...get lost."_

He throws himself inside the den, uncaring of his surroundings even after he barrels past Clearwater with a bundle of moss in her jaws that she suddenly drops in surprise as the wind is knocked out of her.

"Nutfur!" she cries, exasperated, going to scoop up the fallen bundle before she notices his hot wet tears streaming down his pale furred face. "Oh, Nutfur, what happened?"

"Nothing!" Nutfur screams, eyes pinched shut as he yells toward the floor. "Just leave me alone!"

Clearwater is clearly offended, the feeling of fear reflecting in her liquid blue pools. Hurt pings at her heartstrings, sympathy wafting toward the warrior who clearly had suffered through so much. "Nutfur, I. . . please talk to me."

"No!" the warrior's voice shudders and cracks. "Go away!"

 _This is my den_ sits on the medicine cat's tongue but she holds it, silencing her words as she walks slowly and silently out of the little hollow with her original clump of moss.

Nutfur is left alone in the den. From his twisted, wrenching crouch, he moves sluggishly to an empty nest, flopping down dramatically. If it weren't for his little shaking sobs, he'd be puffing out heavy sighs - loud exhales meant to reach the roof of the stone enclosure. His bobtail twitches as do his whiskers. A dull pain pulses at his missing ear joint while a hollow pain touches at his heart. Or at least, where his heart used to be.

Featherpaw is gone.

Brownpelt is gone.

Lashtail is gone.

Nutfur is gone.

"Nutfur?" a soft squeaky voice echoes from the entrance.

It's too squeaky to be Clearwater's. It catches his interest but he shows no inclination to look who it is. He'd rather be left alone.

"Nutfur," a second voice joins in. Male, slightly older. The pale cat still can't place whose voices these are. Perhaps it's all the fuzz in his head making his memory go numb.

"We've come to apologize for Smoothfur's actions."

Ah, so it's Shybee.

The other must be Sunpath.

"He was in the wrong," Sunpath meows. "Yes, we all as a whole family lost a brother. Featherpaw was very dear to some of us. Shybee and I particularly. Smoothfur cared as well, evidently."

"But his comment was insensitive," Shybee squeaks quietly. "To say that to someone who has also suffered. . . It's very rude."

"So we're apologizing on his behalf," the golden tom clarifies.

"I don't what your apologies," Nutfur growls out, an oddly deranged edge to his voice. Rough and sore, furious and depressed. "I want you all to go away!" His voice suddenly spikes up to a snarl, his head lifting up and whirling around to clearly stare down the two toms in the entryway.

Terrified, Shybee squeals and bolts. Sunpath's eyes flash in astonishment but he backs away, swiftly bounding away.

Finally, Nutfur is left alone.

Alone in isolation.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Wee, almost two months. It's not a record or anything, I'm pretty sure TJ sets the bar pretty high for my hiatus time in between chapters. Ah well, fact stands that we've got two more after this one and then the beautiful epilogue. Ah, I'm so excited for this!_

 _ **Starrysong in Autumn Leaves :** I would have thought most people would despite Cedarstripe for what he did to Shallowstar but Stingheart's a good choice too. Angry bean murdered my precious cinnamon roll. _

_YUP_

 _ **BrightMind :** He might have been taking it ok in the last chapter, but I don't think this is any better. Buddy boy's getting worse~ _

_Oh yeah, good boy Duskbelly. Cast aside in favorites because of his simple solidarity but he's actually a good guy who cares a lot. He just doesn't express it often._

 _Yup, you called it._

 _QotC: Now that Nutfur's quickly going around the bend, let's go in a completely different direction. All of Featherpaw's siblings. Favorite to least favorite. Go for it :3  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	32. Consideration

"Consideration"

* * *

A small bundle of crinkly herbs fall in front of Nutfur's face.

The pale warrior doesn't bother lifting his head from his paws, instead opting to simply look up at who dropped them with tired, expectant, and mildly hollow green eyes. The warm presence of the cat wafts to his corner of the den, the shiver in his bones no longer as noticeable.

"What're these?" he slurs drowsily, his own voice dry and rough from a lack of use.

"Strengthening herbs," Clearwater explains in a clipped tone. "Because clearly you haven't been eating actual prey."

At this accusation, Nutfur's head rises from its resting position and he locks a frowning glare at the pretty blue tabby. "I've been eating just fine. Someone brings me something everyday."

"Nutfur do you think I'm stupid?" Clearwater sighs, exasperated. "I've seen you with prey. All you've been doing is waiting for my back to turn before shoving it in a crack in the den or dumping it in the stream in the back of the den. And even _if_ I didn't see you doing that, your ribs are visible. It's almost leaf-bare but you're too thin for this time of the year. If you're not going to eat prey, eat herbs. Now." To emphasize her point, she strikes out her paw and pushes the little bundle closer.

"Eat," she commands again, clearly waiting for him to swallow everything before she goes back to her task of reorganizing the herb stocks.

Wrinkling his muzzle, Nutfur bends forward, swiping up the plant material with a quick rasp of his tongue.

"Swallow."

Sneering, he gulps audibly.

Clearwater offers a triumphant, yet sympathetic smile and abandoners her post beside him, slinking back into the rear portion of the medicine den.

Silence bathes the den for a while, only broken by Clearwater's off and on muttering. Musings upon which herbs she had forgotten to collect and how much easier it would be to keep things in order if she still had an apprentice.

Nutfur holds his tongue.

"Clearwater, please help me!"

Great StarClan, could Nutfur find no peace inside the confines of the medicine den? There was always someone needing something from Clearwater every five seconds.

 _Who is it this time?_ the warrior lifts his head faintly, craning it to get a better look of the entrance, instantly curling his lip at the sight of the brilliant calico pelt sluggishly entering.

Tansyspot looks distressed, her posture crumpled and expression downcast.

"What is it darling?" Clearwater immediately comes to the other female's rescue.

"I'm getting fat!" the calico whines pitifully, as if it's the end of the world.

Clearwater bites her own tongue, stifling a sigh of disappointment. "Tansyspot, you're not getting fat," she explains, exasperated.

"Daisybird's kits said so!" Tansyspot insists, sniffling.

Nutfur rolls his eyes, shuffling in the nest so his back faces the two females as they chatter on.

"Tansyspot, dearest, they're kits. What do they know?" the blueish tabby continues, trying to reassure the calico. "Come here. Closer now."

Sniffling through a stuffed up nose, Tansyspot shuffles closer, her steps timid and reserved.

Clearwater leans close to the female's pelt, breathing in through little curious sniffs. Her dainty paw extends, patting along the calico's flanks. "Tansyspot," she queries, "Have you by chance done anything with anyone recently?"

The younger she-cat flushes, ducking her head sheepishly as she succumbs to the medicine cat's gossip. "Well," she begins in a shy tone, "nothing _recent._ More like a half-moon ago. The day before the battle."

This catches the attention of the bedridden warrior.

"No," he growls lowly as he thinks what was murmured. His head lifts, turning to stare at the pair of she-cats, startling Tansyspot in particular when he first speaks. Apparently, she hadn't remembered he was banished here until his headspace improved.

"What do you mean, n -"

"No," the pale cat insists harshly, a prickle to the back of his neck. "There's no way in the name of StarClan that you and Brownpelt. . . not on the day that my apprentice died. . . never. . ."

"There is no need for your accusations, Nutfur," Clearwater huffs as she scores a quick slice to the dirt with her claws. "If Brownpelt and Tansyspot were indeed together upon that day, it doesn't not mean they tarnished the day of a deceased. Take a nap or something, I'm tired of your voice."

The medicine cat's words strike a cold note in the warrior's chest. His anger fleets, becoming replaced with feelings of rejection and remorse. His maw clamps shut as per instructed and he turns away, meeting no cat's gaze with his sorrowful, hollowed out eyes.

"Well, I guess you've found it out this way, but yes, Tansyspot, you're expecting kits." Warmth flits back into the tabby's words, striking another harsh pang to the tomcat's heartstrings.

How dare she speak so kindly when moments ago she flatly told him to shut up because she was tired of his voice.

Whatever.

 _Just ignore her._

But it's hard to ignore the surprised giggles of a happy female.

"I'm. . . expecting kits?" the calico mews excitedly, yet unbelieving.

"Extra weight?"

"Yeah."

"Cramps?"

"Mmhmm."

"Fatigue?"

"All the ti- ohhhh."

A knowing smile sits itself on the tabby's muzzle. "Ohh is right, kiddo. Now run along and find Minnowrunner. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic in helping you make a nest."

* * *

"You ever wonder how you'll die?"

Nutfur's words make the medicine cat pause in her actions. She'd been bustling quietly about the den, reorganizing her stores before she had to leave for the Moonstone as tonight marked the half-moon. She has a leaf in her mouth. Her head turns, setting down the plant material and frowning.

"What kind of question is that?" she asks, brow furrowed.

"Just a question," the warrior shrugs. He's laying on his back, staring hazily up at the cave ceiling. His nose twitches, his claws sheathing and unsheathing out of boredom.

"Maybe I should stay here for the night," Clearwater begins in caution, padding closer to the tomcat. "If you're having delusions of death, perhaps I should stay and look after -"

"Nope! Not necessary!" Nutfur instantly rolls to his stomach, locking eyes with the blue-gray tabby. "Go about your business. You're greatly needed at the Moonstone tonight. Half-moon, right?" He's clearly trying to get rid of her and her uneasiness swells.

"I think I'll stay," Clearwater meows softly but she's quickly covered over with loud, boisterous words.

"It's really fine, Cleary," Nutfur reassures her again. "You don't have an apprentice to go for you so you really need to go and share tongues with the other medicine cats. Gotta go see if Mothpaw's ready to become a full medicine cat and stuff right?"

The blue-gray frowns deeper. "How would you know about Mothpaw?"

"Feathers told me at the gathering. Said he complains too much about his blindness and Wrentail makes too many jokes."

Clearwater sighs. "You and Featherpaw were quite close."

The pale warrior shrugs, aiming to act nonchalant. "I wouldn't say close. We were just partners. Mentor and apprentice. Nothing more. He wasn't special to me or anything. Just a brat with a smart mouth and too much attitude." His claws shuffle on the ground, scoring little marks into the earth - a casual back and forth motion that displays the warrior's true anticipation and feelings on the matter he's most definitely lying about. And yet, Clearwater finally is swayed.

"Very well," she says quietly, almost a tentative whisper. "I'll leave for the Moonstone tonight. I should probably leave now if I want to be there by moonhigh. Sweet dreams Nutfur. I'll see you in the morning." The medicine cat shoves away the last of her herb stacking and starts at a leisurely pace toward the den entrance and lopes out into the clearing, bowing her head in departure to the warriors she sees on the way out.

Once again, Nutfur finds himself bathed in silence.

Alone with his thoughts.

Isolated.

Quiet.

His mind wanders. He thinks back to his own words.

 _"You ever wonder how you'll die?"_

"What would it be like to die?" he voices softly, under his breath, speaking aloud to no one but himself.

Death is inevitable. No cat is immortal. The ultimate question is how.

"Featherpaw died from a bite to the throat on the battlefield. Brownpelt died from blood loss behind enemy lines."

 _How will I die?_

 _Rogue? There haven't been many of those in RiverClan territory. It's highly unlikely for one to trample in this far. Besides, one rogue? Tch. Not even worth my time._

 _A fox however is a much more intimidating predator. Fortunately, foxes aren't seen much in RiverClan. They're a ThunderClan problem and for that I'm grateful. Feels a bit too dishonorable as a proper death. Ripped apart by a fox. Gross._

 _My own clanmates? Smoothfur seems to hate my guts. Perhaps he'd claw me in the back. Or Frogjaw maybe. Redbriar seems keen on teaching me a lesson. Don't think she's capable of murder though._

 _Starvation? Already tried that and Clearwater caught on. Clearly, nothing gets past her. Even those forsaken herbs keep me on the side of life._

 _Disease then. Clearwater will surely run out of catmint once leaf-bare fully sets in. It's almost here anyway, there's been a deep chill in the air these past few sunrises. I'll surely die of green-cough. I'll shrivel up in my own coughing fits and keel over and die. Sure, that works. Bit tiresome though. It would be rather painful and I'm not sure I'd be willing to put myself through that._

 _Death by eternal sleep. Ha ha, ha... ha... actually, that's not all that bad. It's not a bloody way to go certainly but I suppose it does balance out Featherpaw and Brownpelt's deaths. Both of theirs were quite bloody. Perhaps the cycle can end with a quiet death. Ending my pitiful existence with one swallow of multiple seeds. Surely if one seed makes cats fall asleep for a night's rest, then downing a hundred tiny black dots would overload the system. I'd be long overdosed. It'd be... peaceful._

 _Maybe if I just..._

The warrior has the audacity to cast a bleary-eyed stare in the general direction of Clearwater's stocks. Without putting much thought into it, Nutfur finds himself on all four paws, slumped and lifeless - almost like a puppet being suspended by loose strings. He makes the first step, hollow and dull, one step closer to ultimate demise.

Is he really going through with this?

Another dull step forward.

The tomcat is trapped in a hazy trance. He continues to approach the broad ferns that guard the back stores with all of Clearwater's herbs. He reaches out with a forepaw, brushing the foliage aside without effort. The ferns drag slowly against his thin pelt but he pays the tingles no mind and passes through the barrier into the depths of the storeroom.

The warrior's eyes, green and glassy, swivel around to different parts of the enclosed space, seeking out the means to his demise. Without putting much thought into his moves, another forepaw stretches out and paws the first thing in immediate reach. With his claws he snags a stalk of some herb with four yellow petals - the herb that is instantly drawn up to his muzzle where the warrior chomps down on it.

 _It's no poppy seed,_ Nutfur deems after a smack, swallowing roughly on the partially chewed stalk. _Doesn't taste as good..._

Cleared of haze from the stark taste of whatever plant he just scarfed down, Nutfur's mind is back to its single track of looking for poppy seeds. The black dots are seen within a few more seconds of searching, nestled precariously on a large leaf near the bottom of the clefts. A solidifying grin plasters over the warrior's face and he instantly knows his final plan. With one rasp of his tongue, Nutfur swipes up a large majority of the seeds on the leaf and audibly gulps, exhaling loudly afterwards.

Thoughts at ease, Nutfur plans to settle down on his side and prepare for the endless sleep that the poppy seeds will provide. He licks his chops noisily, cleaning his teeth and grinning feverishly. He kicks out his legs, stretching out in preparation of his death and manages to accidentally kick the wall of herb storage. As a result, another unidentified stalk falls from its perch somewhere near the top. Its weird plumed top with white flowers catches Nutfur's attention and he quickly looks over at the fallen plant on the ground.

Nutfur flattens his ears and frowns, collecting his muddled thoughts.

One more couldn't hurt.

It would be his last meal anyways.

Nutfur stretches his hind leg closest to the unknown plant and tucks its stem between his toes, dragging it closer. Now near his head, Nutfur leans closer with his muzzle to sniff at it. It's a tasteless scent that offers no information as to what it exactly is. Looking at it, it reminds the warrior of an herb that Clearwater gives to queens.

Parsley perhaps?

One way to find out.

He doesn't bother with a taste test and instead, snatches the whole thing with his teeth and crunches and munches. Nutfur widens his eyes in surprise, a sense of alarm running down his spine as the taste settles on his tongue. It's exceedingly unpleasant. As opposed to spitting it out, the warrior accidentally inhales and forces some of the chewed material down his throat, causing a coughing reaction.

The pale tomcat leaps to his paws, tense and rigid with pain. He feels his throat closing up, even as he continues furiously coughing and spitting. Internally, his stomach curls with pain, writhing and twisting from the inside out. A searing heat burns in his belly which sets his nerves on fire.

"H-Hel-p!" he screeches raspily, begging for assistance.

"What's going on in there? Clearwater?"

Sunpath.

"Sss-Sunpa-pa-path!"

"Oh my StarClan, Nutfur!" the golden tom exclaims and watches in horror at the writhing warrior.

Nutfur twists and tosses himself around on the floor, hissing and snarling mindlessly as the pain consumes his thoughts. Spit builds up in his gaping maw and a layer of foam fills the empty space. It begins dripping onto the floor as he continues his thrashing. He no longer speaks coherently - it's nothing more than nonsensical noises. Nutfur's gone round the bend.

Hiss.

Screech.

Yowl.

Terrified for his very life, Sunpath chooses to leave, crying out for assistance.

"Somebody help! Nutfur's insane! I need Clearwater!"

Nutfur watches in a hazy fury, spotting the golden tail dart from view. He snarls again in pain, choking up as he throws himself to the herb wall, bashing his head against the rock face. He lashes out with his paws, clawing every available surface.

His heart stings with raw pain and the tom shrieks through the foam on his lips, collapsing on his side. His body convulses and shudders violently. He's no longer able to stand, the feeling in his legs have gone numb.

The foam continues to dribble out of his maw and smears itself on the earth, forming an ugly puddle right by Nutfur's head.

The warrior stops screaming, experiencing his vision starting to fade to a fuzzy hue of black. His toes flinch, claws sheathing and unsheathing.

His flanks rise and fall rapidly as he struggles to breathe.

Suddenly, he can no longer.

His motions cease.

His body falls still.

Silent.

Dead.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _I disappear for several months and this is what I give you guys. Hmm. Well... Theoretically, this was inevitable. Didn't I tell you guys it was bittersweet? Featherpaw dies, Brownpelt dies, Nutfur dies. The cycle is complete. But there's still..._

 _One more chapter. Then the epilogue. And then the official trivia and Q and A page. We're almost there._

 _ **Starrysong Licking Snowflakes :** good choices, noble brothers_

 _Oh yeah, no definitely, both of them were in the wrong. Smoothfur is correct in saying that Nutfur isn't special and that he should stop moping. Nutfur shouldn't have attacked him but he did and it was Shallowstar who punished them both for setting bad examples for her Clan._

 _I dunno if I'd say pompous, but she is younger than Nutfur so I mean, she's kind of being pretentious just a little bit. She's only trying to calm down Splashtail so she doesn't go off and antagonize the volatile warrior any more._

 _QotC: Quick! What's the herb that deals the killing blow? Try not to look it up. Hint: it's not parsley  
_

 _\- Snarky_


	33. Resolution

"Resolution"

* * *

Darkness.

Shadows.

Void.

The only substances of visible sight in the landscape absent of life.

Void.

Shadows.

Darkness.

 _A young, spritely pale figure bounds from the depths, the tinkling of bells echoing the laughter. Another, much smaller shape chases after in fervor, determined to succeed._

 _"Wait up!" the tinier feline whines._

 _"Guess you'll have to get bigger," the paler one responds cheerily, pausing a moment's length to answer before springing off again. "Get bigger, outrun me. I believe in you Brownkit!"_

Brownkit. Why does that name sound familiar?

 _As encouraged, the smaller cat grows. He's not quite on par with the paler feline, but he's significantly larger when he sprints a few bounds behind._

 _"Snow's pretty."_

 _"Isn't it?"_

 _"Oomph!"_

 _The tiny cat is left behind on his belly, sprawled out and surrounded by the shadows that swallow him up. The other cat merely laughs._

 _"Watch your step, Brownkit."_

Brownkit again. He must be important.

 _But he's left behind as the pale cat keeps moving forward, growing in size and encounters a black form with gleaming blue eyes._

 _"Nutfur."_

 _"Featherpaw."_

 _Their encounter ends there. Both are bathed in the tendrils of the void, fading from view._

Featherpaw. Familiar.

 _Darkness remains. Green eyes glow with bloodlust mirroring the narrowing pair of blue eyes._

 _"You wouldn't dare strike me! No one attacks a messenger of the stars!"_

 _"I think this 'messenger of the stars' could use some teaching to put him in his place."_

 _The glare on the blue side fades._

 _"Everything I did in this past moon to you and to your brother. I apologize."_

 _Green eyes remain creased in fury._

 _"Your words are riddled with holes like rotten wood infested with termites. I don't care what you say, you don't mean it. As far as I'm concerned, you haven't apologized. You have to earn the right to apologize to me. Brownpelt might have already accepted it, but I'm no fool. You're an emotionless freak. Say it to my face when you mean it. Not before. I hate being told lies. Clear?"_

 _"As a shallow minnow pool."_

 _There's a roaring splash. Like water. Water that spatters the ground._

 _"Well, I think that's enough training for one day. What say you?"_

 _"I think a break would be adequate."_

 _A sudden warmth floods the chill of the watery atmosphere._

 _A smile._

 _"You tripped me!"_

 _"I did no such thing! You fell over and took me down with you."_

 _They're arguing. But it's no longer heated. It's... playful._

Who is this Featherpaw? Why did he change?

 _A rumble of thunder. A zing of lightning. A swarm of shadows._

 _Two shapes on a riverbed shore._

 _"Hey, hey. No more tears, no more tears. Eyes on me, listen to my voice."_

 _"I'm a failure. I let down my family. . . I let down StarClan. . . I let down you. . ."_

 _"Listen! Featherpaw, there's something you need to know."_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"Welcome to the family. It's little and broken but still good. Brownpelt and I are honored to call you our brother."_

Our brother. Is this Featherpaw worthy enough to be called a brother?

 _Blue eyes fade and disappear from view, masked by the sudden scent of death and blood. A horrible screeching resonates, swelling and growing in volume._

 _"It hurts so much. . . I'll just rest it off. . ."_

 _"Just keep breathing. It's going to be alright. Focus on me - your big brother Nutfur. And you're my pain in the tail little brother. It's okay, it's okay. Hey, hey, keep those eyes open. Fight it, it's going to be okay. Shh, shh, shhh."_

 _"Pl-ease. Yo-u got... you've got to... let me go..."_

 _"Don't say that stuff, bud. We'll make it through this. The two of us, just like always. Nutfur and Brownpelt, together to the end. I can't have you dropping off before it's your time, eh frogface?"_

 _A heavy pause._

 _"Brownpelt!"_

He's gone.

* * *

 _"Nutfur..."_

Hazy.

"Nutfur."

Cloudy.

"Nutfur!"

Clear.

"Nutfur!"

Nutfur blinks open his eyes, his vision flooded with his favorite shade of blue.

The blue blue hue of the sky after a violent rainstorm.

The color of Featherpaw's eyes.

"Featherpaw?" the name rolls off his tongue so easily without thought. The warrior can taste the familiarity as he speaks, as if he's always meant to say that name and nothing else. Nutfur quickly makes his vision focus more, allowing the bigger picture to contort into his senses.

Right in front of him, real as ever, standing regal and poised, smirking to boot, is none other than his former apprentice.

"The one and only," the black tomcat purrs, tail flicking idly.

"Oh, wow, I thought I'd never -" Nutfur prepares to rise, instantly smacked down with a hard paw on the brunt of his cranium. "Ouch!" he exclaims sharply, looking up with a befuddled frown and his own eyes meet a set of furiously glaring blues. "What in StarClan's name?"

"You absolute toad-brain!" Featherpaw screams in fury, swiping again. This time, Nutfur dodges.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" the black cat demands, his midnight fur bristling.

"Uh," the pale warrior stares dumbly. "I'm here because I ate too many poppy seeds and some other nameless plants in Cleary's den."

Featherpaw fumes. "Exactly! Why did you eat them? You moron! Poppy seeds are dangerous in high amounts. Clearwater gets furious at kits for having more than one in a single sitting before they're of apprentice age. You know overdosing on poppy seeds could kill a cat!"

"Well, yeah kinda," Nutfur rubs his head, soothing out the soreness that the apprentice left there with his rough smack. "Aren't I dead?"

The apprentice's muzzle twists into a tentative grimace. "Not exactly," he meows tactfully, confusing Nutfur even more - evident by his curious little head tilt. Featherpaw can't deny him any longer. Not with those wide eyes. "You're in a place that StarClan calls The Brink. Short for The Brink of Death. You're here because you're not dead and accepted by StarClan, but you're not quite living either. Leaders who haven't lost all nine of their lives visit here often enough. They're not dead and accepted among StarClan ranks, but they're not living with the Clans at that particular moment."

"So I would have the chance to return to my own life?" Nutfur voices in curiosity.

Featherpaw shrugs, head lowering as he glances down at his paws that shuffle in the shadows. "Theoretically. Here I have the chance to either guide you up to StarClan or let you return to your -"

"No, screw that!" Nutfur interrupts in a snappish, decisive tone of voice, shocking Featherpaw out of his little somber mood.

"Nutfur," the apprentice scowls, tail lashing once. "You have a perfect chance to go back - to live the life you were meant to live. You have friends, fam -" He blinks, cutting himself off.

 _"Family?"_ the warrior sneers, baring fangs. "You're implying I have _family_ back down there? Who, pray tell? My mother is dead, my father is dead, my surrogate uncle is dead, my _brother_ is dead."

"Nutfur..."

 _"You_ are dead," he adds roughly, vocals sore and haggard as he speaks. His eyes are glassy and fatigued. "So tell me again, why I should go back, when everything I had, everyone I loved, crumbled through my claws? Tell me why I deserve to go back when I couldn't save them? I can't even save myself."

Featherpaw feels his heart break - watching Nutfur himself, break down to his very core emotions.

He sniffles noisily, unaware he had been almost on the verge of tears. "Nutfur, you deserve to go back because you are a noble soul. You have nothing but goodness in your heart. You are selfless and kind and you don't see it. I see it. You have been nothing but a caring and devoted older brother to Brownpelt. You have been nothing but a patient and dedicated mentor to me. You have been nothing short of amazing your entire life. And that - _that,_ is why you need to go back."

"Whether or not what you say is true, I have to disagree," the pale cat sighs deeply, head hanging heavy off his slumped shoulders. "I have nothing for me back there. I have more of a future here than I ever did there. Please, Featherpaw, do what's best for me. What's best for you. The right thing."

Featherpaw tenses, his shoulders taut with emotion. "Okay," he says quickly, nodding his head a few times to assure himself this is the right thing.

"Good," a soft smile graces Nutfur's muzzle. "Now let's start over."

"Mmhmm," the black feline nods again, his own velvety smile mirroring the other's. He takes a few tentative steps close, until the two are barely more than a nose-length apart in distance. "Hello, Nutfur," he meows simply.

"Featherpaw," Nutfur barely suppresses a smile, the corners of his lips upturned.

"You have lived a uh, long-ish life," the apprentice stumbles over his words a bit. This time, Nutfur doesn't hide his chuckle. "But for better or for worse, it has come to and end and I've come to guide you to StarClan's hunting grounds."

"Oh by the stars, I've missed you," Nutfur heavily breathes out, catching Featherpaw off guard in his speech.

"Huh?"

A split second later, the bigger feline pounces and tackles the smaller to the shadowy surface, wrestling and tussling back and forth with a kit-like squeak. Nutfur smothers his former apprentice with his floof.

"No, stop!" Featherpaw protests loudly and Nutfur would be more worried if it weren't for the StarClan 'paw giggling.

Their play fight halts when Nutfur has Featherpaw pinned, smirking boldly above him. "Ha, you're still no better than me. And here I thought a mighty StarClan cat might have a chance against me."

"Please," Featherpaw doesn't miss a beat, kicking up with his hind legs - one of the best moves to use against an opponent while you're pinned. Nutfur is forced to stumble backwards under the pressure of the defensive attack. "I was going easy on you."

The duo tosses witty banter back and forth with the occasional play pounce and swipe. Neither could remember the last time they've had this much enjoyment in each other's company. They both sprawl out on their backs, staring out at the abyss for a few minutes to catch their breath when Nutfur speaks from his previous experience.

"Hey, Featherpaw?"

"Yes?"

"What were those visions I saw?" the warrior pokes his claws together, idly fidgeting.

"Visions?" Featherpaw echoes in surprise. "You saw visions? When - before you opened your eyes?"

"Mmhmm," Nutfur bobs his head, glancing sideways at the black feline. "What do they mean?"

"Well, it's not uncommon for a dying warrior to see their life flash before their eyes. You were probably reliving some very important moments in your life - the most memorable. I've heard stories of cats seeing the ones they care most about. Did you see anyone?" Featherpaw's ears perk, equally side-glancing at Nutfur.

"Yeah," the warrior's green gaze looks away for a moment, almost embarrassed. "I saw Brownpelt and... and uh, you."

"Oh," Featherpaw's voice quivers and grows warm in tone. He also ducks his glance away. "Well, I suppose it's completely natural for a warrior to care about their apprentice. And of course Brownpelt because he's your kin - your brother - your family, and he -"

Nutfur clears his throat, breaking the rambling apprentice before he can get too wound up. He had a way of spiraling out of control. But to be fair, Featherpaw had been in control of his entire life from day one. He had been very in tune with his actions and his guarded emotions, ensured by his lineage. It was a challenge to get the young tom to open up properly. And now, unused to these feelings, it was so simple for Featherpaw to spin out on a frenzy. Luckily, Nutfur was an older brother and was used to a much younger Brownpelt experiencing similar expressions in similar mannerisms.

"Featherpaw," he meows cleanly after the apprentice stops his rant mid-sentence. "I think we've done enough rambling for the time being. I think, if it's alright with you, I'd like to go see StarClan's hunting grounds and the rest of my family."

 _Rest of my family._

Not _my family._

 _The rest of..._

Featherpaw smiles to himself, replaying the sentence over and over in his head that had embedded itself there since the day his own life flashed before his eyes.

 _"Welcome to the family. It's little and broken but still good. Brownpelt and I are honored to call you our brother."_

"Of course," the apprentice straightens up with a stoic puff of his chest and a shine in his eyes. "We've played around long enough. StarClan awaits." Across from him, Nutfur rises fully to his paws, stretching out the kinks in his muscles as if he were still alive and breathing and feeling simple minded things like soreness. The warrior casts a small, lopsided grin, anticipation prickling at the edges of his coat.

Featherpaw turns to take the lead and Nutfur follows close at his side, just barely a step behind, padding deeper ahead into the abyss. The shadows begin to dull, a hollow glow flickering at the far front - a glimmering dot that gradually increases in size the further they approach. Neither speaks, embracing the silence as they walk, noiseless sans their breathing.

Their pace remains soft and unhurried, but Nutfur feels like they're somehow walking quicker. That or the archway of light is getting closer at a much faster rate. The warrior glances at his compatriot for the first time in a few minutes and audibly gasps at the sight of his apprentice. Little specks of starlight bloom on his fur, a strikingly beautiful contrast to his ebony coat. His blue eyes shine a bit brighter, like a jubilant green-leaf day clear of stormy weather. It's amazing.

Featherpaw ducks his head, visually ruffled at the sudden amount of attention he's getting. "Don't get a knot in your already stubbed tail," he huffs quickly, avoiding eye contact with Nutfur's own brilliant green. "Take a look at yourself."

Heeding the 'paw's advice, Nutfur takes a quick glance at himself and does a double take. He stares at his own pelt intensely, watching in pure awe as starlight freckles his fur in aimless, winding patterns. "Wow," he mews, breathless.

"Mmhmm," the star-speckled apprentice hums contentedly, a purr staring to warble in his throat as he shoots a quick peek back over at the warrior. "That's only the first part. Are you prepared for the next one?"

Nutfur beams. "Absolutely."

Featherpaw smiles, gesturing with his head toward the bubbling ball of starlight just a tail length ahead. The light engulfs them in a blinding haze, catching Nutfur off guard with the brightness. He gasps in surprise, eyes clenching shut and remaining tightly closed until he has confirmation. There's a presence at his side, a gentle nose nudge and the warrior hears his former apprentice murmur, "Open your eyes."

Nutfur does.

His jaw hangs open in wonder, eyes comically wide at the sheer beauty of the hunting grounds. It's so... green. And blue. With specks of red and orange and yellow and more red and more orange and more yellow. Tall trees loom, but in the least threatening manner possible. Their leaves shift with the breeze, a calm hum in the warrior's ears. Suddenly, much further out in what appears to be a wide field, colorful flora blossoms at his feet, of those same red, orange, and yellow hues that you'd be lucky enough to find tucked away in a hidden grove or perhaps the back of the medicine den.

"We are all one Clan here," Featherpaw meows softly as to not disturb the serenity of the breeze. "But it's not uncommon for the former inhabitants of their original roots to find solace in their home territory."

As he speaks, a small and fluffy silhouette bursts from the depths of the flowery field, gaining speed that brings the shape closer to the duo. Color appears in their starry pelt, revealing a fluffy white molly of small stature but harboring no less than the true capabilities for the speed of a WindClanner.

"Hey, Featherpaw!" she speaks in a chirpy squeal to the taller tom as if they had been friends their whole life. "Who's your friend?"

"Hi, Sheeppaw," the black tomcat dips his head formally in greeting the female. "This is Nutfur. My mentor from RiverClan. I'm bringing him to see the rest of his family."

"Oh, nice to meet you Nutfur!" little Sheeppaw mews excitedly, her floof of a tail waving back and forth. "Featherpaw! Once you're done, do you think you'd wanna come play with Swallowflight's kits?"

Nutfur frowns. Something about that name. He looks to Featherpaw. "Swallowflight's -?"

"Yes," the younger tom cuts him off with a nod. "The queen of WindClan Flystar announced at the gathering. She's lost her two youngest: Beetlekit and Berrykit. Ah, sorry, Sheeppaw," he's now addressing the former WindClan 'paw. "I'd like to spend time over by the streams for today. Perhaps another time."

"Oh, alright," Sheeppaw shrugs with an air of disappointment but lets the answer slide. "Another time!" she agrees and bounds off into the field, swallowed up by the flowers.

"She seems friendly," Nutfur meows distractedly as the white molly disappears from view, the rustle of the flora the only sign keeping her form in sight.

"Mmhmm, Sheeppaw is very energetic," Featherpaw agrees with a small bob of his crown. "All things considered. She told me she was chased down by a fox and that she wasn't fast enough."

"Shame."

"Mmhmm. Shall we continue? The criss cross of streams conjoin over the hill. Former RiverClan enjoy bathing on the rocks and catching fish over there." Featherpaw's gaze trails over the ridge of color where presumably the mentioned section of waterways are conjoined.

Wordlessly, Nutfur nods.

* * *

The pale warrior crests the far ridge, chest heaving from his sudden taste in bad choices. Featherpaw bounds up from several paces behind, smirking his self-satisfied smug little grin.

"I'm dead," Nutfur complains, out of breath. "I shouldn't have to feel this way. Sprinting should be easy."

"Emphasis on should," the black tom responds cattily and allows his pink tongue to stick out a bit in a playful jeer. Nutfur shoves him with his own broad shoulder and fragile Featherpaw stumbles a bit at the weight, tossed a few steps further down the hill. The brilliant flowers fade back into the field, the plants thinning out the further they walk. The ground grows more marshy, a familiar squelch of mud working its way in between the crevices in their pads. A comforting shudder runs down Nutfur's spine. Here, he feels most at home.

Breaking through the calmness is a shrill giggle.

A splash.

An answering laugh that resonates like a chiming bell.

Nutfur's bobbed tail waves a bit, a grin passing over his features as his eyes light up.

Unhappily however, Featherpaw's spine fur bristles and that all too familiar scowl settles on his muzzle.

The warrior opens his mouth to ask what soured the younger's mood but Featherpaw takes off forward with a few great bounds, leaving Nutfur to scramble to catch up in a hurry. Brushing past the barrier of reeds, he sides up to his former apprentice and catches sight of what has the 'paw's fur ruffled the wrong way.

Lounging way too comfortably on the rocks are two mollies of distinct coat colorations. One is a striking, black-and-white piebald that Nutfur doesn't recognize, while the second is a stark, thick furred orange tabby with a gleaming pair of orange eyes to match.

"Russetburr," Featherpaw speaks first, gaining the attention of the pair of females playing around by the water's edge.

The ginger molly cranes her head around, ears perked. "I thought I smelt something sour," she crooned, a sly look in her eyes. "Greetings Featherpaw. Come to yell at me again for my choice in morals?"

"To each their own, Russetburr," the apprentice meows coldly with a raised head as if he's trying to appear taller. "I'm only showing around a friend. There was no plan to run into you or Mulberrynose. But I am here now and I might as well tell you that your _prophecy_ has been completed."

Russetburr hums. "Child, it was completed when you were the first to die. But that matters not, 'to each their own', right?"

Featherpaw frowns with an irritated puff to his lips.

The piebald, Mulberrynose by name, laughed a little. "It'll be a few moons before you've matched Russetburr's wit, Featherpaw. But enjoy your freedom. There's no need for hostility here. We'll see you around. Featherpaw. Nutfur." The polite female nods her head, blinking up with a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

The conversation is pulled to a close and Nutfur and Featherpaw have little choice but to dip their heads in departure and spring off further downstream where they meet one of the water crossroads.

"Ah, youngster!" an older, raspier tone greets them. And it's a good kind of familiarity evident by the way Nutfur's eyes truly sparkle in recognition.

"Uncle Lashtail!" the younger warrior leaps and pounces, tackling the grizzled brown tom from his perch on a mossy patch, both toms tumbling into the shallow end of the river. Lashtail falls to his side with a heavy laugh and Nutfur squashes his own muzzle into the older cat's shoulder, reaffirming their ability to touch. "Rawr!" Nutfur crows in triumph, only for the senior warrior to roll and push the pale cat off and to the wet ground. Nutfur thrashes in a mild panic, dodging a set of snapping jaws and swiping paws. He pushes Lashtail aside, grappling for the chance to stand back up on his own feet.

A ruffled Lashtail grins proudly, seating himself back on the moss. "I'd love to say it's wonderful to see you Nutfur, but it's sad that it's still too early. You're just old enough to train your first apprentice - you haven't lived if you haven't felt the warmest part of the RiverClan dens designated for senior warriors. Why are you here so early?"

Nutfur sighs, bowing his head in guilt. "There wasn't anything left for me to live for. The warmest spot in the den is trivial when you're living in a world without your kin. There wasn't a point to living. So I came here. To be with everyone else."

Lashtail exhales breathily, making his adopted son look up at him and make eye contact. "If you've found a new purpose, experience it here to the fullest. You have seen Oakfrost, yes?"

Nutfur's head shakes and hope shines back in those brilliant emerald eyes. "She's here? Where?"

"Ah, Oakfrost. Most of the time she tends to skirt around near the flower fields but on especially bright times like today, she's usually napping on the northern rocks. They tend to get the most amount of starlight." Lashtail explains with a gentle twitch of his lips. He leans forward and brushes up against the younger warrior face to face. "I hope we'll run into each other more often again."

"Count on it," Nutfur shoots him a toothy grin and turns on his heel, preparing to race back the way they came. "Com'on Featherpaw!" he yowls over his shoulder and sprints off, leaving a cascade of water droplets in his frantic wake.

As they run, the pair notices a lack of sun-bathing mollies that had once been splashing around on the shoreline and gossiping like a couple of queens. The stark ginger and the piebald were no longer lounging but the thought of their absence quickly fluttered away with the breeze. The breeze that they chase, slicing through the previous stillness of the river. Nutfur's heart pounds, the blood rushing in his ears. He's breathing heavily, panting with his maw slack and hanging open to taste the wind.

Up ahead, located off to the side of the stream, is a collection of water beaten stones that have been smoothed out and flattened. They're piled in a well balanced assortment, illuminated by the light of the stars with one solitary fawn shape with a dull pelt of stars stretched out on their side at the very top, sprawled out in pure bliss.

Attempting to get a hold of his heavy panting, Nutfur slows until his paws make little plinks in the water, splashing as he steps closer. His chest heaves. He doesn't know what to say. He hasn't seen or spoken to his mother in seasons. She has never visited his dreams or spoke of any message to send to the medicine cats to send to him. He ends up settling for simplicity.

"Oakfrost?" he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard by the shape on the rocks.

The fawn cat lifts their head at the mention of their name. Nutfur immediately takes note of her dazzling green eyes that harbor much similarity to the tom's own. They're so beautiful. Is that what others see on himself? Are those they eyes that Featherpaw see?

Speaking of, the black cat still has yet to speak. He hasn't murmured a word since their conversation with Russetburr but he's followed Nutfur in his pawsteps in a loyal manner. Like he'll stick it through with him until the end.

The fawn molly blinks slowly, disbelieving. "You can't be him," she says briskly upon inspecting the warrior. Her plumed tail swishes once before falling flat back on the stone. "You're too old. You can't be him."

"Mom, it's me," the pale warrior stresses out, approaching with another few steps, giving the female the chance to inspect him more. "Nutfur."

"My Nutkit is a small, beautiful kitten with a faded brown coat and the prettiest of eyes," the StarClan cat, presumably Oakfrost, huffs in hostility. "Why have you stolen his eyes?"

"I haven't stolen anything," Nutfur's head drops a little, sounding disappointed with how the conversation was quickly turning. "They're my eyes. The same green shade as yours. We match."

"You've stolen my kitten's identity!" Oakfrost hisses, delusional.

It's Featherpaw who speaks next, roaring out in anger that has Nutfur completely caught off guard. "He is your son! You were just a horrible mother who wasn't there for him to see him grow into the warrior he is today! You moped about your past mate and then ran off to find a new one, all the while forgetting you had a son who needed your attention and your time and your love!"

"Featherpaw!" Nutfur snaps in horror, whirling around to glare at the apprentice. "You can't speak to her like that!"

"I can and I will because she doesn't respect you," Featherpaw retorts in a snarl. "You deserve respect! From the life you've lived and what you've accomplished, you deserve respect! And she does not earn any courtesy for her own words. She was a terrible mother! She wasn't there to raise you. Lashtail and Ripplemask were better parents than she _ever_ was!"

"I'm... horrible?" Oakfrost quietly gasps to herself, ducking her gaze to her paws in surprise.

"No, you're not," Nutfur rushes to her defense. "Lashtail and Ripplemask were fine surrogate parents, but you did fine, Mom. For as long as you were alive, I was pretty happy. I just want to continue to be happy around you now that we're back together."

"Together..." Oakfrost mews slowly. "Together with Nutkit?"

"Yeah, Mom. With Nutkit," the warrior skirts closer, stepping up on the rocks. "Your oldest who became a proud strong warrior. It's Nutfur now."

Oakfrost flicks her tongue, tasting the word. "Nutfur. Nutfur."

"Yup, that's me," the pale cat nuzzles his mother's cheek, curling up around her in a fuzzy embrace. He pulls his head back and gestures back to the black cat who had mostly calmed down. "And he's my apprentice. Come up here Featherpaw."

Tentatively, Featherpaw pads forward, scrabbling up the stone pile to get closer. His eyes suddenly betray his feelings of shyness. He isn't afraid of confrontation but normal social interaction still eludes his basic grasp of conversation.

"Hello, Oakfrost," he says simply, tucking his tail close to his body.

"Your apprentice?" Oakfrost continues speaking slowly, blinking in wonder at the dark shape. "Wasn't he Clearwater's apprentice? Medicine cat apprentice."

"Heh, you remember," Nutfur grins toothily. "Featherpaw decided to train as a warrior and I got picked to be his mentor. Too bad we never got to see your warrior ceremony."

"Yeah, too bad," Featherpaw echoes hollowly and awkwardly stands off to the side.

"Come here, kit!" Nutfur laughs a bit, gesturing to their huddle and waving the smaller cat to get even closer. He watches as Featherpaw takes a few timid pawsteps and then groans in frustration before physically pulling his apprentice into the group snuggle with complete fur to fur contact.

But even as the trio shares warmth and newfound understanding, a nagging thought tugs at the back of Nutfur's mind. Something's missing.

Some _one_ is missing.

"Hey toadface, what took you so long?"

Nutfur separates from the close embrace, whirling around in surprise, suddenly breathing out a huge sigh of relief.

"Brownpelt."

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _ **Starrysong Licking Snowflakes :** :3 you're correct _

_..._

 _And there you have it folks. The official ending._

 _And it only took a year. and a week_

 _the year anniversary was January 5th, but oh well._

 _To quote an excerpt from a previous A/N in none other than_ Their Journey,

 _"Grab a seat and hold on to your hats and scarves - we're on a one-way trip toward. . ._

 _THE EPILOGUE"_

 _you ready?_

 _see you there,_

 _\- Snarky_


	34. Epilogue

"Epilogue"

* * *

"Quiet down, quiet down!"

A looming black shape arches his back from his post beside the dead tree stump. His tail coils, whipping back and forth in a display of irritation.

"You will display proper etiquette in front of your leader."

Perched quite regally on the aforementioned stump, the gray and white female eyes her shadow compatriot with a half-smile. "Yes, thank you, Frogjaw." Her green gaze lifts from the side and addresses the now silent crowd of warriors before her.

"RiverClan!" she crows, chest puffed triumphantly. "I have called us to gather in light of recent good news. As the days get brighter, the days get warmer. I can only assume that leaf-bare is dwindling. Good things are approaching."

Frogjaw resumes his sitting beside his partner, glancing out across the crowd to survey their reactions. Many of them possess warm, hopeful smiles - a new spark of joy reopening within their colorful pools.

Shallowstar clears her throat. "In light of these events, I must perform some ceremonies to properly symbolize our new, evolving Clan. Daisybird, please send your kits forward."

Surprised gasps ripple among the crowd and Frogjaw hides a grin of his own. Within the past few sunrises, he's confided in his mate, whispering to each other of their plans for RiverClan's future. Starting with the newest generation. The black tomcat looks toward the front of the gathered cats, spotting his eldest son beaming, chest puffed out - the epitome of pride. His cream furred mate sits alongside him, their offspring nestled at their paws with shocked and breathless expressions marring their faces. Daisybird quickly runs her tongue over each of their pelts, determined to present her best for the Clan.

"Please, they're just fine, Daisybird," Reedrush murmurs softly with a chuckle, nudging one of them towards Shallowstar's speaking stump.

"But -" the queen whines in complaint before the other three charge ahead, too smart for their own good. She drops her head, nodding, and Reedrush quickly nuzzles her cheek, encouraging her to look up and watch their youth ascend to the next rank.

Frogjaw watches on with warmth. His grandchildren.

"Spiderkit, Nightkit, Rushkit, Fadekit," Shallowstar meows, crisp and clear. "You have had your time to grow in the nursery. It's time you grow into strong apprentices to further benefit our Clan. From this moment on, until your receive your warrior names, you shall be known as Spiderpaw, Nightpaw, Rushpaw and Fadepaw." Her eyesight lifts from the for young bodies at the very front and it floats to the mob of cats, searching for the right ones.

"Splashtail, Cloudyhaze. You are some of the youngest warriors RiverClan has to offer. Do not mistake your youth for ignorance. I'm positive the two of you will make fine mentors and set the best examples for my grandchildren. Spiderpaw will be apprenticed to Splashtail and Nightpaw will be apprenticed to Cloudyhaze."

The two stark colored females, mildly surprised at the events, but nonetheless eager to please, step forward with quick strides, accepting of their new charge with bright grins. The bond is sealed a moment later with a tentative nose touch.

Mentorless Rushpaw and Fadepaw remain.

"Smoothfur, Sunpath."

Their respective ears perk up and crane forward.

"I have no reason to regret my decision but if I find you coddling your kin just for the sheer sake of them being Reedrush's, there will be words." Shallowstar grunts, her eyes reflecting a feeling that speaks; _don't you dare mess this up._ "Smoothfur will mentor Rushpaw and Sunpath will mentor Fadepaw. Congratulations to Reedrush and Daisybird for a healthy litter that will prosper and live on for many moons to come."

"Spiderpaw! Nightpaw! Rushpaw! Fadepaw!"

The remaining 'paws get their noses tapped by their new mentors and the rest of RiverClan happily cheers for the new additions.

Frogjaw speaks in a soft undertone, meowing toward his mate on the stump. "It's nice to see such growth in the Clan. You know it'll only be a matter of time before Duskbelly's kittens are apprenticed. The half-Clanner's mate - ah, Tansyspot - too. Don't you think -" His head cranes and his words falter, noticing the lack of a gray and white she-cat perched on the stump. He whirls his head around the other way, spotting her backside as she wanders off, slouched, in the direction of her den.

"Shallowstar," he calls, frowning and pushing forward in pursuit. She makes no motion to slow.

"Shallowstar, for StarClan's sake, answer me." His voice his still low, pawsteps quick and light as he sidles up to her flank, prying with his words to open up her vocals that have since been clamped shut. The pair slides through the lichen and Frogjaw gives up on expecting an answer. He mated a particularly complicated she-cat.

He stills himself just inside the entrance, pausing in the threshold between the cascade of light and the draping shadows. His own yellow-ish-green optics follow the trail of the haggard leader as she shuffles deeper into the depths of her rock cavern and slumps halfheartedly in her nest, leaning obnoxiously to the left. The older warrior exhales deeply through his nose. They're alone.

"Something is clearly wrong," he announces bluntly and observes as Shallowstar's ear twitches in acknowledgement. Another deep sigh. "Do you have any inclination to tell me what's on your mind? You were smiling during the ceremony. Perhaps you should go and mingle with them. Or, at the very least visit Duskbelly's kits. They are also our grandchildren."

"Must we talk about children?" Shallowstar suddenly rasps, voice dry.

Frogjaw startles. "Children are the lifeblood of the Clan. All kits are important. We must speak of them. Since when should we not?"

Shallowstar's tail angrily lashes. "Since now."

"Alright, now you must tell me," Frogjaw demands, striding over with purpose and instantly crowding up in her personal space. "You have gone round the bend and if you want any help from me you need to speak to me. We need to regularly converse if we mean to regulate a sense of purity in this Clan. Our blood runs through RiverClan's veins. I think we should encourage Sunpath and Smoothfur to take mates. More litters mean more of our lifeforce."

He pauses, waiting for a reaction. "You're upset," he presses on and lays his tail across her back.

"Are you having another litter?"

"No!" Shallowstar snarls, pulling away to break the physical contact.

Frogjaw raises his voice. "Then _what_ are you upset about?"

"Kits!"

"Whose kits?"

"Mine!"

Both parties go silent before she trails off into a choked up sob, a flabbergasted Frogjaw left gaping with a slack maw. "Not a new litter, correct?"

He watches her head nod. Okay, he can communicate with that.

"First litter?"

A shake.

"Second litter then."

A nod.

"There's something wrong with our second litter?"

Another nod.

Frogjaw hesitates. "Can you tell me what's wrong with our second litter?"

There's a pause and he stares at nothing but the back of her head. She finally moves it up and down in a small nod. "Fetch Redbriar and Shybee. They deserve to hear this."

At this, her mate is shocked. "What? They deserve to hear what's wrong with them? What's wrong with you for suggesting that -"

"Just - go, get them," Shallowstar grunts and whirls her head around to lock gazes. "Now, please."

Resigned, the black tom backs up and out of the shadowed enclosure, trotting off in search of the aforementioned second litter. At least, what remains of it.

"Redbriar! Shybee!" he barks, morphing back into his stoic mannerisms as he spots the pair in a collective conversation with Clearwater. Their heads swivel immediately. Frogjaw's tail waves, beckoning them over. "Shallowstar requests an audience. Hurry along. Quick quick, we're wasting daylight." The warrior ducks back into the den, satisfied with the sound of dust being kicked up several bounds behind him.

When he steps back through the draping lichen, Shallowstar has moved back to her nest, still sitting however. Moments later, the presence of Redbriar and Shybee appear on either one of his sides. He gestures them to step forward, as they do.

"Dad says you wanted to speak with us?" Redbriar gets straight to the point - inherited both of her parents' straightforwardness.

"Yes." Shallowstar's voice is not as cracked as it was earlier, but it's considerably hoarser than usual. She shuffled around until she faces them. "Please, sit."

They do.

"I must confess, I've been keeping secrets. A secret. From all of you. Since you were born. Since before you were born."

Shybee blanches. "What?"

"What in StarClan's name are you talking about?" Redbrair demands. "What secret?"

"You are not of as much pure blood as you think," Shallowstar says, strained.

"Spit it out, Shallowstar!" Frogjaw gripes, voice raised once again in the confined space.

"They're half-Clan!" she hisses, a bridge of ruffled fur down marking her spine. "Redbriar, Shybee, Fea -" she pauses with a hitch in her breath. "And Featherpaw... they're all half-Clan."

"You...you _cheated_ on me?" Frogjaw chokes, vocals catching on the very word.

"No!" Shallowstar screams loudly. "I would never!"

"Then explain to me why my second set of kits aren't mine!" Rage boils in Frogjaw's veins, anger spiking at the new knowledge.

Shallowstar cries, slumping down in a shuddering heap in her nest. "C-Cedar - Cedarstripe. It-it-it was - it was C-Ced-Cedar-C - Cedarstripe. From-from-from Th-underClan."

"You had an affair with a _ThunderClan cat?"_ Redbriar prompts in a hiss.

"Never!" the mighty leader wails, burying her paws over her muzzle to stifle the noise. "I-I was jumped at... at... jumped at Sun-ning Rocks. Seasons ago."

Shybee gasps in horror. And then realization dawns upon him first. "We were mistakes?"

"I'm sorry."

Frogjaw growls furiously, "For StarClan's sake, you're a frog-brain! You're so stupid!"

"I-I know, I -"

"Why didn't you come clean sooner?" the black cat huffs. "I could have been there for you."

Shallowstar lifts her head, perplexed. "I... what?"

Frogjaw moves closer, face to face with his mate. "I could have been there for you," he repeats, enunciating more clearly. "If I had known what you went through, I would have been there right by your side. The whole way. Those seasons ago I had just assumed it was another litter and that made me happy. If I had known you were harboring those negative feelings, I would have helped more."

"You're not angry?" came her tentative meow. "Not angry with me for having a half-Clan litter?"

"Shallowstar, I'm _pissed,_ " Frogjaw bares his teeth. His darkened expression drops. "But not for that. I'm upset because you didn't tell me when it first happened. This was seasons ago. Why couldn't you have told me then?" His bubbling pools of fury subside in his eyes, the bristled edge to his pelt flattening marginally, his claws no longer scraping the earth of the den's floor.

"If I told you, you wouldn't have loved me," Shallowstar mewls in her defence. "I was soiled, corrupted, ruined. You wouldn't have wanted me anymore. I would have been discarded like yesterday's crowfood. I couldn't have that." Water blooms in her sage eyes again, building up to a blink where it streams down her cheek fur. "Frogjaw I need you."

"Sweetheart, I'll always love you," Frogjaw leans forward, pressing the underside of his chin to the crest of her head. "I'll always need you too."

Her children feel the similar urge to comfort their distraught kin and Shybee and Redbriar surge forward to embrace the shaking female on the ground. Redbriar tucks herself at her mother's flank and Shybee takes the other side, half laying across her back as a grounding touch.

"We still love you too, Mom," Shybee squeaks in reassurance. "Featherpaw, Redbriar and I might've been mistakes but we don't think any less of you. We're glad you had the chance to raise us."

"Chin up, my pond flower," Frogjaw purrs, allowing himself to whisper sweet nothings into his mate's ear while they're out of earshot from the rest of the Clan. "You have undergone much stress. You will leave the patrols to Reedrush and you will take the rest of the day to relax surrounded by your kin who loves you. Come with me. We should go visit the nursery and see Duskbelly's kits."

Wordlessly, the small group had agreed and began to make their way out of the cramped den and out into the open air where proper breathing was granted once again.

Redbriar and Shybee give their mother one last nuzzle on the cheek before prancing off to resume their conversation with Clearwater. In passing, they mentioned the nursery is already crowded enough with the kits - it would only be worse with two full grown warriors in its milky depths. So only Frogjaw and Shallowstar slipped in through the bramble lined entrance with some caution.

"Shallowstar?" a tired voice meows from the sunlight dapples.

The leader and his mate spot a silver head lift up from their nest. Minnowrunner.

"I'm sorry I'm still here," the pale gray tabby queen protests says quickly, attempting to rise to her paws. "They're weaned. I'll go back to my warrior duties right now."

Frogjaw shakes his head. "Stay. Rest. Care for our kin. They are Duskbelly's after all. Use the nursery as a sanctuary. Return to the warrior's den when you are ready."

"Frogjaw is right," Shallowstar nods her head and a relieved looking Minnowrunner slides back down to her side, watching as her two silver-gray bundles perk up.

The senior warrior chuckles once. "Shellkit and Shallowkit right?"

Minnowrunner licks the fur at her chest, subtly nodding. "Since neither look like him, Duskbelly wanted one of them to be named after his mother."

Shallowstar leans forward for a better inspection. She only saw them as newborns a few moons ago - they've matured since then. "How do you tell them apart? They've got the same tabby markings and the same blue eyes."

The queen smiles, proud of her upcoming answer. "Shellkit's got more white on her muzzle than Shallowkit. Of course, it doesn't help when both of them are facing away from you but at that point you simply call both of their names and they'll turn around most definitely."

Minnowrunner, her kits, and Shallowstar mingle into a soft conversation with warm smiles and lighthearted expressions.

Frogjaw starts to drift from his mate's side, content with seeing her in a more relaxed state. He veers toward the wall structure, inspecting the linings for an weaknesses or potential holes that could endanger the kits and queens on its interior. As he sits down on the side, peering at a twist of tendrils, there's a sudden pressure on his tail. The warrior's head jerks around in surprise, making quick eye contact with a small kit.

He assumes Shallowkit or Shellkit when he first whirls around but it seems that's not the case when the little scrap of fur is clearly a dark brown hue.

"Hey," the kitten squeaks, shrill and grating on Frogjaw's ears. He remembers why he never hung around the nursery for too long when Shallowstar had first kitted. Four obnoxious toms wailing at the top of their lungs was enough to give any cat a massive headache.

"Hey!" he squeaks again when Frogjaw doesn't answer the first time.

"Hmm?" Frogjaw prompts, ears perked and eyes round with curiosity. "Brownkit, right? Tansyspot's kit?"

"Mmhm," the bundle furiously nods his head in agreement. "You wanna see something?"

"See something?" the warrior echoes slowly, pondering what the kit meant by his vague explanation.

"Mmhm," Brownkit's head bobbles again with furious delight. He chases off to the other side of the nursery, further away from Minnowrunner, Shallowstar and the other kits. "Follow me!" The tiny kitten shuffles up to one of the bramble sides and wriggles through a noticeable gap.

"Ah, Brownkit," Frogjaw meows at the opening. "I can't fit through there. You'll have to bring it back for me to see."

Brownkit chirps from the other side. "No! I can't do that. It's too precious. Come around from the outside."

"Alright," Frogjaw blinks, turning away from the too small gap and pads back toward the nursery entrance. He gains no attention as he leaves, the females still engrossed in their bonding moment. His steps are unusually soft, treading on the sacred ground around the confines of the nursery as the large black warrior circles around to the back in order to meet up with Brownkit. The further he goes, the tighter the squeeze. Larger bodies aren't meant to fit in these tight spaces unfortunately.

He finally manages to struggle close enough, sprawled out on his belly facing Brownkit. "Well, Brownkit," he meows expectantly. "What did you want to show me?"

A huge smile breaks out on the kitten's visage and the much smaller body side steps to reveal what he was hiding;

A dandelion sprout.

Midst the cold and frozen, white dusted earth, it's a sudden burst of color. A vibrant shade of yellow that contrasts so brilliantly to the dingy hues of the rest of the world.

Frogjaw stares in surprise.

The sign of new-leaf.

 _Rebirth._

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _TA-FRIGGIN-DA_

 _WE'RE DONE_

 _We have reached the end of the story plot. Whew._

 _But seriously, thanks so much. Oh my gosh, it's been a tiring year and then some but sincerely, a huge thank you goes out to you guys who stuck with this through to the end. I'm so happy to add another story to my collection of completion. And this story is a far cry better than Their Journey so I get the satisfaction of looking back and seeing how my writing progresses. Then there's your wonderful comments and reviews cause AHhHHjh malfunctioning asdfgjkASHJKLFGHJK YOU ALL ARE SO DARN SWEET AND I LOVE MAKING YOU GUYS FEEL_

 _ITS AN HONOR_

 _So now that we've reached the end, your QotC is: have any questions about the story thus far? Like with TJ I have a collection of fun little facts, author notes, world building, plot points and other fun stuff. Ever wonder what happened to a character further into the future? Well now you can ask. Want an aftermath for the aftermath? Go for it. Ask. I'll answer._

 ** _"Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."_**

 ** _~ Richard Bach_**

 _Later friends._

 _\- Snarky_


	35. Trivia & Fun Facts

DP Trivia & Fun Facts

* * *

 **WARNING:**

 **If you've reached this far, clearly you've read up to all of the current chapters and know what has happened. If you have not finished the story, fair warning of something magical called SPOILERS**

 **Still here?**

 **Good.**

 **Let's begin.**

* * *

Alright, so there probably isn't going to be a legitimate format for this. Most likely, it's just a slew of answers, trivia, facts that apply to the DP universe that weren't answered in the storyline.

So why don't we just start with the unanswered, most controversial conversation ever yeah?

 **Featherpaw and Nutfur were purposely written to have a romantic bloom.**

Upon first glance, yeah it's all mostly subtext. There was no explicit confirmation that these two are together. However, it's fun to see how many references you can sneak in under people's noses.

Chapter 19, _Precipitation_ , is the first noteworthy one. Do us a favor and check the last few paragraphs. Nutfur and Featherpaw are literally just staring at one another, internally describing the other.

Chapter 21, _Realization,_ can be glossed over unless you're really looking for the text evidence. At least, you can gloss over the first part. Featherpaw's meeting with Nutfur the day after Daisybird kitted. Featherpaw is crouched, overall depicted as submissive, as he apologizes to sleeping through the day that cost the mentor and 'paw a training session day. The small black cat is leaking fear scent pheromones, something this stubborn cat almost never does. Not to former mentor Clearwater, not to his siblings, and certainly not his parents. But he bows to Nutfur.

Things get a little more complex once Nutfur falls asleep. During Nutfur's dream sequence, Russetburr is the first to blatantly say it. _"I know that Shallowstar's second litter are half-Clan in the same way that I know that Featherpaw loves you."_ Wow, if that ain't up front, I dunno what is.

 _"Haven't you ever actually looked at him? The way he acts around you? Just earlier you saw him. You saw how submissive he was to you - the way that delicious fear scent of his wafted from his frail body. Tell me, when's the last time you've ever seen that cat go belly up for anyone? Hmm? Surely not his parents, he rebelled against them. He tolerated Clearwater but she never bossed him around and he was sure to not let that happen regardless. He never lets his siblings walk all over him - positively snapped at Reedrush only yesterday when those kits were born. He's snapped at you too, I've seen, but progressively, that cat has gotten more soft, haven't you noticed? That poor scrap was so terrified of whatever punishment you were going to give him for skipping training, that he was ready and willing to turn over and show you his pudge of a belly."_

 _"His belly isn't pudgy," Nutfur says quickly without a filter and instantly regrets it._

 _Russetburr lights up in glee, her smile downright predatory. "And how would you know?"_

 _Nutfur glances away. No way was he going to tell her that when they were training sometime in the past few sunsets, the warrior had knocked the smaller cat on his back several times, revealing the albeit fluffy, but still slender stomach area of the young tom._

Chapter 24, _Admiration_ , is shown from Brownpelt's eyes. He's taking his break from Tansyspot and spends the afternoon with Nutfur and Featherpaw. In the later half, he starts to actually observe his brother and apprentice, softly gauging a few transitioning moments.

 _As an onlooker, Brownpelt can't hear anything over the bellowing laugh of Nutfur's. He's yet to hear a laugh come from Featherpaw, but the chestnut tom can see the younger cat's upturned grin._

 _When did the little guy start smiling?_

 _Last time he had really seen the black scrap, young Featherpaw kept a tight lipped frown. Or at least an emotionless face that resembled Duskbelly's._

 _What had happened in the past moon?_

 _Nutfur._

 _Nutfur, his brother, became the mentor of Featherpaw less than a moon ago. Nutfur, his brother, who struggled in the beginning. Nutfur, his brother, who overcame his issues and magnificently aided in the blossoming of a stubborn, frowning flower. Nutfur, his brother, who dutifully spent many hours on training an apprentice, not only for traits of fighting and hunting, but for social cues and a place in society._

 _Nutfur, his brother._

 _Be it fate or destiny, something sought to pair these two together in a bond._

 _Trainer and trainee._

 _Guide and follower._

 _Mentor and apprentice._

 _And it couldn't have made Brownpelt more happy to witness such a bond._

Words later, he decides that he wants a bond like that with someone. Someone like Tansyspot - ie, a potential mate.

Chapter 26, _Expiration,_ is quite a fun one. I personally don't know if anyone caught it, but there are some almost obvious sexual undertones in this first half.

 _Nutfur shakes out his fur, water flying off his pelt in frantic drops. The sunlight glistens against his pale brown pelt as he tosses his head to the wind and over his shoulder to meet those hooded blue eyes. He shoots his apprentice a charismatic smirk, a flash of white teeth and a glint in his emeralds. He doesn't speak and instead makes a huge, graceful bound to land poised and perfect atop the rocks where the sun beats down._

 _Featherpaw's body tenses, readying himself for the tomcat to leap off and tackle him but the action never comes. He frowns after a few seconds and observes in confusion._

 _Nutfur slumps to a languid sitting position and pats the sun-bathed rock next to him with his left paw. The direction is clear: come here. But there isn't a way to tell what's expected of the 'paw if he approaches. He's anticipating an ambush. . . he's waiting for Nutfur to think he's dropped his guard before pouncing._

 _"Just get your rear up here," Nutfur rolls his eyes, patting the stone again for emphasis._

 _Tentatively, Featherpaw complies, pattering up the set of stones until he reaches the spot next to the slightly bigger tomcat. When Nutfur's paw moves, the black cat sits down, shifting with discomfort as his wet behind plasters against the dry rock._

 _"Now lay down," Nutfur orders in an oddly soft, sentimental tone. This isn't the voice he takes when ordering around his apprentice. It's not the voice he uses when he's telling Featherpaw to 'suck it up and go again - it can't hurt that much'._

 _Featherpaw stares at him with skepticism glowing radiantly in his stormy eyes, but he slowly follows the order and slithers to his flank, laying tense bodied on his side. He swallows a little lump in his throat, still staring up at the hovering warrior. His breathing is noticeably more shallow, his visible flank rising and falling at a quicker pace than normal. "N-now what?" he tries to keep the squeak out of his voice, clearing his throat to lower his timbre._

 _"Close your eyes," Nutfur lilts, warm and silken._

 _Featherpaw's wet pelt shivers, a rush of suspense running down his spine but he can't find it in himself to disobey. His eyes close behind a gentle shut of his lids. "And now?" he whispers, voice unable to be spoken any louder as he expects the next set of instructions to be spoken next to his ear._

 _"And soak up the sunlight," Nutfur's voice sighs in relaxed relief, vocals pulling away from such close quarters and now settling a good tail length away._

Yeah... I actually wrote that...

Also emotional death! Expiration, as I'm sure you can call from the title, is in fact an allude to someone's untimely expiration from the living. Featherpaw drew the short end of the stick here, but don't worry, I didn't do it for shock effects. Featherpaw, from the very beginning, was destined to die. Following my outline pretty meticulously with this, I knew from the start of this story that Featherpaw was going to die. The 'how' was up to my creative interpretation when I got there, which just so happens to be a sickening death in the close comfort of Nutfur.

The next few chapters are Nutfur in grief as he heavily mourns Featherpaw and soon, Brownpelt. Nutfur dwindles into insanity until he can no longer endure the pain and takes the easy way out.

And thus, we're left with Chapter 33, _Resolution_. There's an idea in this one. The idea that your "life flashes before your eyes" as you die. Well, the first portion are a collection of memories that Nutfur is reliving as he dies on the cold floor of Clearwater's den. I've added on to this previous idea, implying that you relive the moments that are most important to you - often seeing people who are the most important. For example. Nutfur relived memories of Brownpelt. Obvious, it's his brother. But, he also lived through memories of Featherpaw.

Next you're left with Featherpaw meeting Nutfur in what I headcanon "The Void", a place of neither living nor death. Their interactions here are hidden flirting and happy fluffy hugs.

Also, fun fact. Nutfur's favorite color is expressed throughout the story. It's a certain shade of blue that the sky is after a storm.

Guess whose eyes are a specific shade of blue and also alluded to crackle like a lightning storm whenever he's angry?

Just keep that in mind.

Romance aside though -

 **Nutfur and Brownpelt were written specifically to have "bland" names.** Suffixes like -fur and -pelt are hardly used except for background characters. So my idea? Take the plain, boring names and turn them into legends. I think I succeeded.

 **Nutfur is a sleaze.** I only got to show it once, but he doesn't stick to committed relationships. The only connection we saw mate wise was with Splashtail and all of that was just a quick lay to tide off some sexual frustration. He sleeps around and Brownpelt keeps notes about it.

 **Despite all of your theories and accusations, Russetburr is a StarClan cat.** She did good in her life - being a noteworthy medicine cat. She just grew really bitter about half-Clan cats. It inflicts with the code and she was a stickler for the rules. She thought she could influence Featherpaw to be like her and change Clan future because she couldn't. When Featherpaw turned his back on StarClan, she grew even worse and was almost tempted to tell him he was half-Clan. She didn't because she waited until his death, planning on revealing it to him and then while he was shocked, she planned to banish him to The Void.

 **The battle between ThunderClan and RiverClan is referred to as the Blood Feather Battle** or just Blood Feathers by later generations - an homage to the blood of Featherpaw that was spilled that started the whole thing.

 **Shallowstar was supposed to be written as a coldass jerk.** She was supposed to be despised and bring RiverClan into shambles with her way of leadership. Yeah, that didn't happen. Apparently, she saved RiverClan from Pikestar's lazy rule and made changes that would help RiverClan succeed in the future. And then of course she just had to become one of the greatest leaders ever. Better than Pikestar for crying out loud.

 **While Featherpaw was destined to die, his full warrior name would have been Featherheart.** In my eyes, -heart is another lackluster suffix that's hardly used to a proper meaning. Paired with a -pelt and -fur, it seems like a natural combination. Heart also refers to Featherpaw's own. At first he was this cold uncaring robot, but it took a family to open his eyes and more importantly, his heart.

 **Nutfur and Brownpelt died without knowing their fathers.** Both kits barely got to know their mother but Nutfur has more recollection considering he got to spend more time with her before she died after Brownpelt's birth. Their actual names however, were Hollowstem and Graywhisker.

 **Featherpaw also didn't know his birth father.** He was never told though I assume it will come in conversation up in StarClan. As of his encounter with Russetburr and Icethroat, he knows he's half-Clan between River and Thunder but he does not know by means of which cat.

 **Cedarstripe is a horrible cat.** One, he jumped Shallowstar when she was but a naive warrior and forced her to bear kits. Two, those kits? He didn't even care about them! Shallow was just a one-night stand to prove some power over a defenseless intruder. During the Blood Feathers battle, Shallowstar, off screen, is the one to kill him and remind him of his actions, yelling at him that she bore his kits and that Featherpaw, his son specifically, is the death that spurred this whole Thunder-River war.

 **Frogjaw and Redbriar aren't really good cats either.** Moral wise. During the Blood Feathers battle, they succumb to Shallowstar's words of "kits and elders" and they dive straight for the nursery. When the battle ends, they emerge with red muzzles and the sound of a sobbing queen echoes from behind them. Yup. Precious babs are kit killers.

 **Tansyspot had two kits.** Brownkit, whom she named after her mate, and Cherrykit - a frail little, tortoiseshell who got very sick midway through leaf-bare and didn't survive the cold.

 **Death.** Obviously, Brownpelt died of blood loss. Featherpaw died of a mixture of blood loss and insufficient breathing. But Nutfur's is interesting because he didn't die in battle. He planned on drifting into a forever sleep of poppy seeds but he managed to eat something extra that really drove the nail in. Nutfur died as he ingested water hemlock.

 **Sexuality.** If you want specifics, Nutfur is a classic bisexual with a high preference for females but does find males aesthetically pleasing, even if he doesn't articulate. Featherpaw is mostly asexual, bordering on demi-sexual due to his need for forming a close relationship before trying anything. Brownpelt is loosely polysexual; an attraction to multiple, but not all genders.

Redbriar is actually an aromantic-asexual, without a need for romance or anything of a sexual nature. Whitewater of WindClan is also a high-key homosexual with a fancy for a certain soot black female.

 **Left to the Unsaid.** Heh, "I love you," obviously. Pffft.

Nah, but seriously there were some lines and scenes that I had originally planned to be canon in the story but as it progressed, some changes were made. Nutfur and Featherpaw had the water training, but there was an idea in which the story would canonically show Nutfur and Featherpaw training on land. Nutfur tries to explain it verbally but Featherpaw struggles to understand and simply repeats over and over, "I don't understand." Nutfur doesn't stay patient for long and thus, a physical demonstration ensues. While unlike the near drowning that happens in _Precipitation,_ Nutfur still similarly slips into a rage haze and forgets the sheathed claws rule. He accidentally scars Featherpaw's cheek with a clean swipe, a blow that knocks the smaller cat backward until he flops unmoving on his side. Nutfur snaps out of it and spirals into a panic, thinking he's majorly injured his 'paw and that Shallowstar would murder him personally. However, Featherpaw turns out okay, using this tactic to his advantage and manages a surprise attack in order to pin his mentor. Shallowstar later throws a fit over her permanently cheek-scarred son but Nutfur survives the ordeal.

Another set of things that were supposed to happen was a line spoken by Featherpaw on his deathbed. Somewhere in midst his whining and laughing and crying, he was going to say, _"That's what family means . . .isn't it? They're supposed to have your back, stab it once in awhile, break your heart . . .thank you for teaching me. . .when my own family couldn't. . ."_

 **StarClan.** More specifically, StarClan residents. A good friend of mine mentioned that we didn't get to see Brownpelt in StarClan and you are correct. Brownpelt was not shown much at all sans his single comment in the last chapter. After Brownpelt bled to death, he was not greeted by a usual family member. Surprisingly, Oakfrost was not well enough in a mental state to come and collect her son. Brownpelt's biological father did not guide him either. Nutfur was still living and Lashtail was too at the time. So? Who was it? Featherpaw. While Featherpaw and Brownpelt were not as close as Featherpaw and Nutfur, there was enough substance there to call them family. The two stuck together, Featherpaw introducing StarClan to Brownpelt until it was Nutfur's time to join them. Brownpelt marveled at the starry skies but longed to return, feeling homesick without the rest of his family. He tried to seek out Oakfrost but she was elusive until Nutfur made his entrance and reunited them all.

 **Aftermath.** Nutfur's dead. Brownpelt's dead. Featherpaw's dead. Lashtail's dead. The epilogue provides information as to what takes place after the main story, but what about beyond the epilogue? Well, Shallowstar remains leader for moons to come. She's suffered a lot throughout her life and she's got the rest of her family to help. Frogjaw is supportive husband to the end, as well as Reedrush who begins to really appreciate and understand his role as deputy. Smoothfur resents him a bit, but they're still a rather tight nit group. Duskbelly has his kits with Minnowrunner, an unlikely pairing but nonetheless, Shellkit and Shallowkit are new nursery additions. Sunpath matures a little more, but not by much now that he has an equally childish apprentice.

Brownpaw II fancies adventure and danger. Early on in his apprenticeship, his leg is broken from a particularly nasty fall and spends a lot of time in Clearwater's den. RiverClan's medicine cat is just about through with that family in her den. Brownpaw II is unable to train for a long period of time and he's kept in good company by Clearwater. Eventually, the little 'paw takes an interest in medicinal work. Perhaps with some convincing and approval from Shallowstar, RiverClan will once again have a medicine cat apprentice.

And many moons later, a white kitten anomaly is born in the heart of ShadowClan.

* * *

 **UPDATED ALLEGIANCES**

 **RiverClan**

Leader: Shallowstar - dark gray she-cat with a white underbelly; green eyes

Deputy: Reedrush - thin, pale black tom; green eyes

Medicine Cat: Clearwater - blue-gray tabby she-cat; bluish eyes

Warriors:

Frogjaw - large black tom with a white jaw; paled yellow-green eyes

Smoothfur - sleek, grayish tom; amber eyes

APPRENTICE: Rushpaw - cinnamon and white tom; blue eyes

Duskbelly - dark brown tom with paler underbelly; amber eyes

Sunpath - golden tom; hazel eyes

APPRENTICE: Fadepaw - dilute, black she-cat; amber eyes

Shybee - pale spotted, red-brown tabby tom; grayish eyes

Rainsong - blue-gray she-cat with white markings; soothing pale blue eyes

Mistbloom - gray and white she-cat; sharp green eyes

Splashtail - orangish she-cat with a feathery tail; green eyes

APPRENTICE: Spiderpaw - black she-cat; green eyes

Cloudyhaze - half-deaf, fluffy white she-cat; bright blue eyes

APPRENTICE: Nightpaw - black she-cat; blue eyes

Redbriar - reddish-brown she-cat; pale green eyes

Queens:

Daisybird - yellow-cream she-cat; bright blue eyes

Minnowrunner - pale gray and white she-cat; dark blue eyes ( Shellkit - silver and white tabby, Shallowkit - silver tabby )

Tansyspot - calico she-cat; one blue eye, one amber eye ( Brownkit - dark chestnut tom )

Elders:

Thornswipe - prickly furred, dark brown tom with graying features; wise golden eyes

Ripplemask - thick furred, dark gray she-cat with a darker 'mask' over her nurturing golden eyes

...

 **WindClan**

Leader: Flystar - light, golden dappled tom

Deputy: Haybristle - long haired, stark golden she-cat

Medicine Cat: Yelloweye - grumpy cinder colored she-cat; yellow-amber eyes

Warriors:

Haretuft - brown and white tom with tufted ears; bright green eyes

Cloudsprint - sleek white tom; golden eyes

Breezechaser - black-gray tom with a windblown pelt; amber-orange eyes

Bigtail - tailless, large, poofy tabby tom; dark amber eyes

Shrewnose - tiny, dark brown tom

Pouncefoot - dusky gray tom; dark blue eyes

Heatherheart - pale, creamy brown she-cat; blue eyes with a hint of lavender

Swallowflight - black and white she-cat

Deerspot - fawn dappled she-cat; big blue eyes

APPRENTICE: Larkpaw - pale brown she-cat

Whitewater - white she-cat; amber eyes

Sootpounce - sooty, black she-cat; ashen gray eyes

Elders:

Ashface - battle scarred gray tom; amber eyes

Sparrowcall - tawny tom with black spots; yellow eyes

Gorsetail - fluffy pale gray and white tom; soft green eyes

...

 **ThunderClan**

Leader: Birdstar - white and gray tortoiseshell; blue eyes

Deputy: Bramblenose - thick furred, dark brown tabby tom with a pink nose; pale amber eyes

Medicine Cat: Wrentail - pale creamy brown tom; bright yellow eyes

APPRENTICE: Motheyes - dusty gray-brown tom; blind green eyes

Warriors:

Silverhawk - silver tabby tom; sage eyes

Ebonyfoot - thick furred white tom with black paws; amber eyes

Sunstrike - ginger and black tom; dark amber eyes

Stingheart - pale brown tabby with darker markings; hazel eyes

Volewhisker - scrawny brown and white tom with long whiskers; blue eyes

Pineberry - nimble black she-cat; dark green eyes

Cloudspot - grayish she-cat with white 'spots'; blue eyes

Flowerhaze - silver tabby she-cat; sage eyes

Berryclaw - pale golden she-cat with broad paws; hazel eyes

APPRENTICE: Leafpaw - tortoiseshell she-cat; bright green eyes

Amberclaw - fully dull golden she-cat; amber eyes

Queens:

Copperfur - coppery colored she-cat; green eyes

Icewhisper - short haired white she-cat; pale blue eyes ( Pigeonkit - silver patched tabby, Dovekit - pale gray tabby )

Elders:

Embershade - ginger and black tom

...

 **ShadowClan**

Leader: Pantherstar - tawny she-cat with sharp claws; sharp amber eyes

Deputy: Adderstrike - mottled brown tom; green-amber eyes

Medicine Cat: Twigpelt - thin built, black brown and white tomcat; hazel green eyes

APPRENTICE: Needlethorn - spiky furred black tom; dark green eyes

Warriors:

Barkpelt - black, brown and white tom; amber eyes

Walnutnose - pale brown tom; bright green eyes

Elkspring - dark, shaggy furred brown tom; amber eyes

APPRENTICE: Irispaw - white and black bicolor she-cat; golden eyes

Hollowslip - large, thick furred almost black tom; yellow eyes

Smokerunner - short-haired gray-silver tabby tom; yellow eyes

Stoatwhisker - dilute brown tom with white underbelly; amber eyes

Redsky - tortoiseshell tom

Toadleap - pale brown tabby with mostly white jaw, underbelly and legs; greenish eyes

APPRENTICE: Mulberrypaw - black and white bicolor she-cat; green eyes

Hollyhock - white cat with black splotches and black tail; yellow eyes

Gooseberry - frizzy gray dappled she-cat; golden eyes

Mudpool - dark brown tabby she-cat with white underbelly; blue eyes

Salamandertail - small bodied, dark orange she-cat with a coiling tail; green eyes

Hawklight - chocolate and white tabby she-cat; bright blue eyes

Foxear - russet she-cat with large ears; amber eyes

Ravendusk - slender pitch black she-cat with white toes; dark blue eyes

APPRENTICE: Thicketpaw - thorny gray tabby tom; yellow eyes

Queens:

Sootflower - dusky black she-cat; amber eyes ( Spiderkit - spindly black tom with amber eyes; Beetlekit - slim black she-cat with white markings and yellow eyes )

Mossjaw - chocolate tabby; green eyes ( Hickorykit - pale brown mackerel tabby tom, Hazelkit - white marked, dark brown tabby she-cat, Mumblekit - stark white tom )

* * *

Fun fact number whatever, I made myself a playlist on my phone of just songs that helped me get into story-mode whenever I was writing. A lot of the lyrics apply to characters and relationships and themes. Much of it is symbolic. Feel free to give the songs a listen and see if you can gauge what it applies to.

 **DENIED PROPHET PLAYLIST**

Of the Night - Bastille

How to Save a Life - The Fray

You and Me - Lifehouse

Fall for You - Secondhand Serenade

Brother - Kodaline

Hey Brother - Avicii

One More Light - Linkin Park

Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab

Angels Fall - Breaking Benjamin

I Will Not Bow - Breaking Benjamin

The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty - PANIC at the Disco

HIGH - SIVIK

La Da Dee - Cody Simpson

Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Did I miss anything?_

 _\- Snarky_


End file.
